


Do Not Go Gentle

by whokilledkat



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Violence, F/M, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Not as graphic as my other series, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, but also cute feyrhys, but still pretty heavy, gratata, mafia gang shit, secret business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 88,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledkat/pseuds/whokilledkat
Summary: Feyre's life seems to be falling apart before her very eyes: her fiancée is keeping secrets from her, the demons in her past are beginning to haunt her present, and to top it all off, a beautiful stranger just can't seem to leave her alone at the coffee shop she works in.But the day she finds tiny packets of pills in her shop's storage room, Feyre discovers that she is in way, way over her head.AKA, another modern AU in which Tamlin is a Shady Tool™, Feyre loses her marbles, and Rhys is there to help her every step of the way.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin, but its gonna be GR8 i promise, everything else is still on the table, my mind hasn't decided
Comments: 325
Kudos: 411





	1. Prologue: Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! New fanfic. Been meaning to write this one for a while, time to put my own twist on acotar AU.  
> Like my other series, this story will deal with heavy themes such as suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse and mental health problems. If these topics are triggering for you, please read with caution.  
> For fun, I decided to make the chapter titles the songs I listened to when writing, which I'll post with every chapter. For the prologue, we've got: Smoke and Mirrors by Imagine Dragons  
> I'll be posting chapter one as well right after this. Hope you enjoy!

_** Prologue: Smoke and Mirrors ** _

“Tam,” I murmured, “I’m still not sure about this.”

He gave me a knowing smile and slung his arm around my shoulder as we continued to stroll down the promenade, wind at our backs. “What’s there not to be sure about? We love each other. We trust each other. You already basically live at my place,” he squeezed a little closer into him and I cherished his warmth; his arms around me. “It just makes sense.”

“I know, I guess I just…” that feeling washed over me, the one that came every time I thought of my future. A constant, festering feeling that wouldn’t wash off my skin and sent my mind spiralling. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” I fought against the thickness in my throat and the gratitude that swelled in my heart. “I’m just so grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

At those words, my voice did crack. Tamlin merely stopped us mid-stride and turned me to face him. His nose brushed against mine as he leaned down and whispered, “There is no debt, Feyre. Not after everything.” His eyes clouded over and my thoughts drifted to the screeching of the tires, the impact of the rolling car. My breath locked in my lungs, and Tamlin’s thumb rubbed soothing lines back and forth along my cheekbones. “I just want you to be safe,” he pressed a kiss to one cheek, “and happy,” he pressed his lips to the other, “and by my side.” A smile lit up his face, and I reciprocated it with my own before tilting my head upwards to meet his mouth. 

It was a slow, tender kiss, one that made the noise and traffic and static ebb away into nothingness, and only two souls remained intertwined with passion and love. 

_This is love, this thing between us,_ I told myself again and again, _this is love._


	2. Don't Know Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intro to Feyre's life. Chapter song: Don't Know Who I Am by Rebecca Roubion

_** Chapter One: Don't Know Who I Am ** _

_ One Year Later _

I wiped my hands against my apron as the orders kept tumbling through. Though it was still early in the morning, the coffee shop was packed, and would stay packed until morning rush hour subsided and everyone got their caffeine. Then the lunch rush was creeping around the corner threatening to make me hand in my resignation. Or maybe curl into a ball on the ceramic floor and kick every body out. This was how most shifts went, usually. But that didn't mean I didn't love my job. 

Nobody wants to make coffee for a living. It’s not some life-long dream that a kid would aspire to. At least, I hadn't encountered anybody in a kindergarten class vehemently wishing to master the art of barista-ism when they grow up. Because making coffee for people was a shitty, shitty job. In some ways, I was just a glorified drug dealer dispensing everyone’s morning fix. 

But it made the time go by. And it kept me near Tamlin. 

Not long after we moved in together, I wanted to get a job. Though Tamlin had profusely refused anytime I mentioned working, I kept pushing because I couldn’t stay in the house all day. Though I may have given up on schooling, I refused to become a stay at home trophy wife making crockpot dinners and resorting to ‘wine nights with the girls’ as a weekly ritual (because really, that’s just a fancy term for alcoholism to drown out the mind numbing loneliness that would indefinitely plague me). I couldn’t. I needed to stay busy and I needed to stay working, not only to make money, but to feel like I’d earned my place here. 

Defining ‘here’ was always the issue. I didn’t know what ‘here’ was. 

Here was in our spacious three bedroom apartment in downtown Prythian. Here was designer clothes and weekend galas and two hundred dollar steak dinners. Here was dating Spring Corporation’s newly adorned CEO, Tamlin Ivy, and living the upper 10% life. 

Here was…comfortable. Easy. But also completely, awfully wrong. 

I’d made no effort to be here, and everyone knew it. Hell, I knew, and nearly saw it written in the mirror’s condensation every morning after my shower. What I’d done, what’d happened… that shouldn’t have lead me to where I was today. No, that should have lead me down, down to the place I really deserved.

Nonetheless, I liked it here. I loved Tamlin and I wanted a future with him, ‘here’ being good or not. 

“That’ll be six fifty,” I said hours later as the pale skin man pulled out his credit card in the empty shop. He’d said his order so quietly I had him repeat it twice, and tried to keep my face as neutral as I could when he’d said only a few decibels louder, “Large caramel frappucino, extra pump of hazelnut and double whip.”

He even brought his own cup to hide the monstrosity of an order from his colleagues. I never minded the complicated orders, though. They spiced up the routine. 

As the blender sounded off in the shop, and pale frappucino dude moved off to the pickup side of the counter, I turned towards the order station armed with my usual garb. “Good morning, what can I get you today?”

Only instead of blearily listening to another business exec’s daily dose, I paused where I stood as my eyes settled upon the customer behind the counter. 

I blinked, as before me stood the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. 

I hated saying that—mostly due to my current relationship status—but it was undeniable that the man before me was science’s only known example of perfect genetic combination. With his jet black hair, terra-cotta colouring, strong jawline and eyes so blue they hovered on— _on amethyst_ —I was trying to hide the creeping blush crawling up my neck. Every ounce of him oozed grace and swagger and confidence, from his immaculately fitting suit to his subtle but enticing cologne, and though those things were incredibly sexy—they could also be vile. 

And he must’ve seen it, too, because he shot me an easy smirk that’s definitely gotten him laid before. “Good morning, darling. How are you?”

The endearment, the smirk and the swagger, though, are what made me stop short. There were two kinds of beautiful people in this world: the ones who knew they were beautiful, and the ones who didn’t. This guy so obviously fell in the former category, and lucky for him, it was the type of person I tended to not get along with. 

Instead of pushing it, though, I merely asked again, “What can I get you?”

Again, that feline smirk. He knew I was avoiding him. “You can get me an answer to my question.”

“I’m fine,” I ground out. “Would you like a coffee or would you like to piss me off?”

The words came out before I could stop them, and for a second I held my breath. I never, ever was rude to customers. Well, at least, I tried not to be, because there was one thing about the placement of Hum’s Coffee: it was on the ground floor of Spring Corp and nearby all of Prythian’s other biggest industries. This meant that the clientele was nearly exclusively office people, high ranking business execs and other prestigious titles—people I really shouldn’t piss off. But there was something about this guy that seemed to set me off today. 

Thankfully, the only other person in the shop was frappucino dude, and he was far enough away that the blender faded out the conversation between us. 

Except the man before me did not balk. He did not scowl. No, he wasn’t offended at all by my rather aggressive comment. In fact, he… he smiled. A fuller, genuine smile that showed off his white, straight teeth. 

“Why not both?” Was what he said, and I fought against the grin that crept to my lips. Instead of answering him, I turned away to get frappucino dude’s frappucino, who was seeming more impatient by the second. Not forgetting his double whip, I handed over the man’s metal mug and he quickly screwed the top on, mumbled a thank you and sped away. Which left me turn begrudgingly to Mc Dreamy who waited patiently behind the counter, a look of feigned innocence on his face. 

For the third, and what I decided was my last time, I asked, “What can I get you?”

“Large Americano with almond milk,” he said without thought, as though it rolled off his tongue every day. “And a smile, darling. Dazzling eyes and all.”

My fist clenched at my side while the other punched the order into the computer. Though I didn’t usually asked, my curiosity bit at me and urged the question from my lips. “Name?” 

This guy must’ve been a Brad or Chad or Brent. He had that Frat-Boy-Daddy’s-Money look to him. 

His perfectly tweezed brow arched in surprise. “Rhysand.”

My head angled to the side, mirroring his shock. Though I guess I shouldn’t really be, because Prythian was full of odd, unique names, including my own. 

“Four ten,” I growled, and he handed over a ten dollar bill. I quickly handed his change back to him and he merely put it in the tip bucket. Though I would’ve normally said thank you and showed my genuine appreciation—nobody tipped baristas anymore—I only turned and dispensed the espresso beans into the group head, thankful that my back was to him and he couldn’t read the seething, hateful expression on my face. 

Once I put the almond milk away and secured the lid, I grabbed the sharpie out of my apron and scribbled across the top. I usually didn’t take names because of this step, but I figured my shaky block letters didn’t look too embarrassing. And, with the fakest, widest smile I could muster, I slid the coffee across the counter to Rhysand, who merely grinned at me. 

Until he looked down to his coffee and read the name I’d spelled out with a shaky hand: _PRICK_. 

Rhysand’s eyes met mine and they blazed with a challenge, shock and… something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Lust? Attraction?

“Have a wonderful day, darling,” he said, and began to walk away, until he stop mid-stride and turned on his heel. “I didn’t quite catch your name, though. No tag.”

I crossed my arms. I didn’t wear my name tag because I didn’t want people knowing who I was or searching me up online when they had no business to, like Tamlin mentioned. And it served me well today, because I replied, “Be more polite, next time, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Next time? Is that a date?”

That blush came back once more. How could he? “What? No—”

“I just wanted coffee, but I’m open to anything you suggest, darling,” he smirked once more as he pushed the door open. 

I glared at him and said, “In your dreams, prick.”

“Yes, you will be there tonight, darling.” With one last wink, he was gone. 

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then, I laughed. 

A chest-opening, heart-lightening laugh, something I hadn’t done in a long, long while. Thank God the shop was closed, because people definitely would’ve thought I was hysterical as I clutched the counter and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

+

“Medium hot chocolate please, extra whip and chocolate sprinkles.”

“Sir, we’re closed—” I said over my shoulder, but turned when I saw the blonde hair and easy smile. My face, ready to be stern and scowling at whoever saw our closing hours and decided to walk in anyway, melted into a smile as Tamlin leaned onto the counter with a lazy grin on his face. 

“Hi,” I said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m almost done. Just have to lock up.”

“Take your time,” he said “I ordered us Chinese for supper.” 

I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose. American Chinese food was his favourite, and I tolerated it because I knew he liked it. I didn’t say anything though as I fished the key from the back room and locked the cash box and the front door, the bell sounding out its final ring as night swept across the city leaving streetlights and headlights to illuminate the dark. Tamlin’s elbow hooked into mine as we made our way down the sidewalk to the parking garage where his BMer stood in the reserved parking spot. 

The echo of the doors closing bounced off the wall of the parking garage and I settled back into the leather seat, sighing as the muscles in my neck finally unclenched after standing all day. 

“Long day?” Tamlin murmured. He reached over the console and grabbed my hand. I hummed when his thumb brushed along the skin of my palm. 

“Yeah,” I said, “asshole customers.” It was my usual excuse, but today it was pointed at one person in particular. Someone whose smirk was burned onto the inside of my eyelids by sheer arrogance. 

“Mh,” he grunted in agreement. “Had a few assholes today as well. Seems as though I’ll be dealing with some miscreants for the next little while until the deal finally blows over.”

The thing about Tamlin’s business is that he kept things very vague. I knew he managed real estate and invested in other startup companies, but he always seemed to keep what he did private. Not that I wanted to hear about all the legal jargon and property wars, but it would’ve been nice to be involved in some of it. Only when I’d initially asked him about it, he’d just smiled and said, “Feyre, it bores me to tears most of the time. I don’t want to put you through that.”

True, I’d never had a knack for business, but it did interest me. I was in the arts program and wanted to get a minor in business, but my college days did not last long enough for me to actually learn anything of value. 

Our routine was nearly clockwork. Park the car in the garage, go to the entrance to the private elevator and ride up to the fifty ninth floor where our penthouse waited. It was weird to call it ours, because I’d never paid a cent towards it, but it was our home. Either he’d cook or Alis made something before she left for the night or we’d both give up and just order in, which happened most nights. As it did tonight with the Uber-Eats person waiting at the entrance to the elevator. The smell of chicken fried rice wafted through the small space as we rode up floor by floor, curdling my stomach with each increment of elevation. 

The elevator opened up to the apartment, and the grandeur of it never failed to make me feel like I’d gotten off on the wrong floor. With the floor to ceiling windows, ambient cool lights and modern decor, I felt like I was walking into an overpriced hotel. Like the furniture was for show, not for living. 

Tamlin didn’t echo the feelings, even when I’d voice them to him. He only laughed at how ‘quirky’ I was. I reminded myself that he’d grown up in spaces like this his entire life. This wasn’t the South Side anymore where we’d shared a two bedroom with four people. 

No, I’d escaped that life. I’d burned away the moment I left that hospital, and I’d never looked back. 

We settled in front of the TV and I curled into Tamlin’s warmth, savouring the feel of his arm around me and the smell of his skin, like rosemary and fresh rain. The food tasted ashen in my mouth but I downed it with a glass of water. Tamlin looked into the container and back up at me. “You not hungry?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated Chinese food, so I opted for a half truth. “Not really. I’ll take it to work tomorrow.”

He nodded and his eyes waded back to the TV. “Don’t forget, we’ve got that gala tomorrow night.”

I sighed. “Do we really have to go?”

“Yes,” he chuckled into my hair and set his empty container onto the coffee table before us, “I’m kind of hosting it, so it would be appropriate if I made an appearance.”

“You mean Ianthe and Lucien are hosting it.” I deadpanned. 

“Well, yes but—” Tamlin stumbled over his words until he saw the smirk on my face, then smiled. “Look, I don’t like these things either but they’re part of the job description. Plus, with everything happening with Night Industries, it’ll be a chance to get them off our scent.”

“You have a scent?” My brows furrowed. “Who are the Night Industries?”

He waved me off. “Doesn’t matter. But,” he hedged, his eyes dimming, “I talked to Ianthe. About what you’re wearing.”

The breath squeezed from my lungs. We didn’t talk about this. Not in the open; not in casual conversation.

“She made sure to get something longer this time. It should be—”

“As long as it covers them, I’m fine,” I muttered—more like bit out. I couldn’t meet his eyes. He shifted next to me, like the proximity between us was no longer a comfortable, familiar thing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmured, and he pulled me closer to him. Despite the reluctance blossoming in me, I settled into him again and we found bliss in the mindless activity of staring at an information box. 

After a while, though, my thoughts reverted back to the conversation and got caught on the words. _Covers it, covers it, something longer to cover it—_

Cover up the fact that I was crazy. Cover up the fact that I was off the deep end and everyone knew it, cover up the fact that I evidently did not belong amongst them, cover up the fact that I was a fraud and a liar and a murderer and that I didn’t deserve any of this, that I should be gone like the rest of them—

“You okay?” Tamlin asked from the kitchen. I hadn’t even realized he’d left the couch. I hadn’t noticed the absence of his warmth. 

The entire space was open and I could see him standing behind the marble counter that could probably pay for many years’ worth of food for my family and I in the past.

I swallowed hard. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He didn’t answer as I pushed myself off the couch and padded away down to the narrow hall branching to the rooms and our offices. As I passed Tamlin’s office, I sighed, knowing he’d probably be holed in there for the rest of the night. Then I passed my office. 

Office was a loose term. There was a desk somewhere in there beneath the newsprint and old bedsheets and paint cans. Art studio was the better fitting name, but seeing as though I no longer used it, maybe museum was the best way to describe it. Museum of the life I’d left behind. 

I left my things in our bedroom and pulled my robe from the back of the door as I settled into the washroom and began to strip. 

Looking at myself in the mirror was a draining thing. 

Which was why I ignored it and slumped my clothes in the corner before stepping into the boiling stream of water. It burnt my skin red and splotchy but I didn’t care as I rubbed a day’s worth of sweat and grime off of me. 

And when I got to my scar covered thighs, I paused. Then scrubbed them furiously anyways.

Like that could ever make it go away. Soap and exfoliation didn’t erase fuck up. 

Nonetheless I scrubbed and scrubbed until my thighs were raw, and when the water turned cold I slumped onto the shower floor and closed my eyes as the stream fell onto my shoulders. It was the only time where I felt like I had some sort of hold on myself; when the world wasn’t just a blur, and the silence could reign. 

“Feyre?” A voice called. “Is everything alright?”

My eyes opened and I sighed, staring at the water collecting on the tiles. The silence never reigned long before interruption. “Be out in a minute.” I called. 

The water still dripped from my body when I stepped out into the dim hall and Tamlin stood there, arms crossed, eyes snaking up my body like he owned every inch of it. There was that familiar hunger in his gaze. The one I let devour me. The one I wore when I wanted to devour him. 

His lips found my skin before either of us could say anything, and before I knew it the towel was off of me and we were stumbling towards the bed. 

Chills trembled across my skin as his mouth came down on me, and I let out undignified sounds when he plunged his full length within me. Thrust by thrust, the aches went away, the pain fled, the silence was broken—the void took a step back and waited patiently as I got my fill. As my thoughts left my mind, and as my mind left this body, if only for a few passionate, glorious minutes of pleasure. 

Tamlin rolled off of me after I’d screamed out my climax. I stared up at the ceiling, catching my breath, counting the flickers of light protruding in from the window’s diluted city glow. His weight shifted next to me, and I felt his lips press a kiss to my shoulder before he got off the bed, pulled his pants on and left the room, presumably to resume work in his study. 

I didn’t even have the energy to get up and dry my hair. I only curled further into the sheets and made sure my alarm was on before letting my eyes fall closed, and sit back as the void, along with the thoughts, creeped back in. 

+

“I’ve got to head straight to the gallery after work so I’ll get somebody to pick you up, alright?”

My fingers fumbled as I neared the ends of my hair I was trying to braid. I lost them and shook out the rest of my hair before starting again. “I can just catch a ride with someone. Or walk, it’s honestly not that far.”

Tamlin waved the thought away. “Don’t worry about it, besides I wouldn’t want you to scuff up your dress. I’ll text you the information.”

I licked my lips and nodded once. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and I gave him a grin before we parted ways at our usual location of divide on the ground level of Spring Corporation. He headed for the executive elevator while I headed to Hum’s. The world still slept at five thirty in the morning, but they’d be awake soon and demanding their morning prescription before I knew it. 

The day passed in a blur of whirring machines, bills and change and grounds. Sweat beaded on my brow and my feet ached, but I carried on despite the exhaustion wearing on my bones. The fog in my mind seemed to thin out when the rush came in and consumed my focus and attention. But when the lulls came, and I was sweeping around the few tables, my mind wandered. Far. My hands were rope-burnt from trying to reel it back in. 

But I did. Because tonight was important for Tamlin, and I couldn’t break down. There was no room for error when your life was centred on appearances. Everything was always good and perfect and lovely, even if it wasn’t. 

A familiar face appeared at the door, and I smiled as Lucien’s golden red hair gleaned in the sunlight. He reciprocated the smile as he revealed what he’d been holding behind his back: a hanger supporting what must’ve been a lush gown concealed by black material. 

“Is it hideous?” Were the first words out of my mouth. Lucien laughed as I took the hanger from his hands across the counter and set it in the back with the rest of my things. We had a running joke between us about the dresses Ianthe had put me in before that made me look no less than an exotic bird. Some were gorgeous, though, and I loved putting on the lavish materials—but most of the time, they felt like a waste. 

“You look gorgeous in anything,” was all he replied with his usual dripping sarcasm. I rolled my eyes and began whipping up his usual: chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon on top. 

“So what’s this one for tonight?” I wondered aloud. “New partner? Company morale? Charity dinner?”

At the mention of this, Lucien’s face turned neutral, his stance uneasy. One thing about Lucien that I picked up quickly was that you could always read how he felt by his stance. And now, I could tell he was lying, or hiding something, as he did often when discussing company business. 

“Something like that,” was all he vaguely answered. In the past, I may have interrogated him until his ears bled, as he put it, but I let it go. Another charity ball wasn’t going to kill me. My feet and knees, maybe, from wearing the heels Tamlin loved, but not the entirety of me. 

Over the whirring of the milk steamer, I called, “I don’t get why we have these anyways. He sneaks off half of the time to discuss with people and leaves me with the rest of the sharks.”

“Firstly, we’re under a lot of pressure right now with our competitors. People are trying to snoop where they don’t belong. And before you ask, you know I can’t tell you anything.” I sighed. The one golden rule Tamlin and I kept in our relationship: work stays at work. “And secondly, they are not _sharks_ , Feyre.”

“They damn well might be,” I countered. I removed both tea bags from the piping water and poured the warm milk into it, the spicy scent caressing my senses. “They’re all numbers and business and exponential growth. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Ianthe will be there,” Lucien supplied, licking his lips as I sprinkled copious amounts of cinnamon atop the foam of his drink. “And Bron and Hart.”

“They have eleven brain cells combined, if that.”

Lucien shot me a pointed look as I slid the drink across the counter to him. “That’s six more than you’ve got, Fey.” 

I bit back a grin as I shoved his shoulder from across the counter. “Get out of here.”

“I’ll see you tonight. Clean yourself up a little.” 

I didn’t have time to bite back a retort before the door closed behind him. _Clean yourself up_ , I scoffed. I had my makeup kit in my bag. And I showered last night. I looked fine. 

Probably not as dashing or pristine as Ianthe will, but my hair’s clean. And I smelled good. That right there was the height of my presentability. 

The clock ticked closer and closer to five, the end of my shift. There usually wasn’t many people past five, seeing as though Hum’s wasn’t much of a student-oriented establishment. The last hour was always the longest, watching as every second brought me closer to the gala. My stomach felt like it was crawling. I hated these events. 

The door opened along with the chiming bell, and my head snapped up from my phone to see an all-too familiar face already set in a smirk. Only this time, his suit was immaculate, even more so than yesterday’s, and his hair was parted differently, gelled back with little dangling strands around his face that brought out he midnight blue of his eyes. 

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to face this prick again, but damn was he so good to look at. 

“I should put your picture up on the board with the rest of the banned customers.” I said as I turned to the espresso machine. I hated that I remembered his order. His eyes even showed surprised as I pulled out the almond milk and boiling water for his Americano. 

“Wouldn’t you love to stare at me all day long?” He mused. “They better keep that board near the front so you don’t hide back there all day looking at me. Maybe tape it right here to the cash register.”

“Prick,” I murmured under my breath. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, and I didn’t want to seem like I had any interest in what he did whatsoever, but I couldn’t help myself. “Why the expensive suit today? Hot date?”

“All of my suits are expensive. And unless there was a date and time written on the bottom of my cup yesterday, I don’t recall you asking me out.”

My cheeks heated. “Oh, screw you.”

“You wish.”

My cheeks were probably the colour of traffic lights as I poured the almond milk into his coffee. “Four ten.” I ground out. 

“Where’s that dazzling smile today, darling? Really, you must give me your manager’s contact information. I demand better service than this.”

“I’ll read it out to you: 514-829-suck my dick.”

Rhysand stood before me, a startled look on his face, like he couldn’t believe the words I’d just said. 

I couldn’t believe the words I’d just said. This man was rich. Probably high, high up in the corporate rank. A phone call from him to anybody’s boss would definitely get them fired.

But he let out a startled laugh. A full, rich laugh that only made me swallow hard. 

And bite back a smile. 

“Four ten,” I said once again, and he only handed over yet another ten dollar bill. He didn’t even acknowledge my hand when I gave him his change and I begrudgingly put it in the jar. 

But he didn’t leave. No, he stood there in front of me sipping his coffee like this was a normal, casual thing we did. 

“You make a killer coffee, darling. Really.”

“It’s just an americano,” I scoffed. I turned and began wiping down the espresso machine and milk steamer. But really I was hiding the blush on my cheeks. God, look at me. Gawking over a stranger because they complemented me. An annoying stranger at that. One that knew exactly how to get under my skin. 

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time than flirt with baristas?” I threw over my shoulder. He still wouldn’t leave, despite the silence between us. 

“Yes of course I do, but flirting with you is by far the most enjoyable.”

My eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know my name.”

“You could easily fix that by just telling me.”

“Not going to happen.” 

“Darling, I just don’t think it’s fair. You know my name. All the mystery is demystified. You’ve got the upper hand. Help me out a bit, here.” He shot me a pout and those brooding eyes, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I pointed to the clock. 

“We’re officially closed, and I don’t have to put up with you anymore.”

He only smirked and began walking away from the counter with that same graceful swagger. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning bright and early, darling.”

“There’ll be a restraining order by then!” I called back. 

The door swung shut with the chiming of the bell, and I sighed. 

I told myself the smile on my face wasn’t because of him. But I was never really a good liar. 

+

The gown wasn’t _hideous._ Hideous was too strong a word. 

I was just grateful, though, that my scars stayed out of view. Last time, things got…ugly. 

Nonetheless, it sure as hell wasn’t my style. I sighed as I walked up the avenue, chiffon balled tightly in my fists, and tried to calm my nerves as I saw the pillars to the Prythian art gallery crawl into view. The lights they’d set up made the entire white-marble building seem like a dream. The gala tonight was for company morale, a sort of way for all of them to clap themselves on the back for the hard work they’d done. I’d lost count of how many I’d attended since I’d known Tamlin. 

Usually I could nose my way out of them. When I was in school, before the accident, it was easier to use that out and have a night to myself in the apartment. Now that I was only working at Hum’s, I didn’t have any excuse anymore. 

Every step ached in the heels. This was going to be a long night. 

The bouncers didn’t even need to ask for name as I walked in the main front doors. The lobby was teeming with people I didn’t know, most likely all of them employees or people from business circles. Faces swam in and out of view, and I felt like I’d seen many of them before, but without Tamlin at my side I had no reason or courage to approach them. 

He could’ve been anywhere. I had no idea where to even start looking. 

The dinner was at seven, so I supposed I had a few hours to kill. I glanced over my shoulder for a moment then weaved my way to the back of the room where the museum branched off into different wings. Tamlin did pick the best venues, I had to concede. Always something for me to distract myself with. 

This month’s exhibition was Paris’s post-impressionism era in the 1900s. Arguably my favourite period in art, the museum was lucky enough to snag some lesser-known Van Gogh and Monet. There was one piece, an early morning sunrise flecked with pinks and oranges that caught my eye. I stood before it, staring at the brushstrokes and blending of colours and hues, amazed. My fingers itched. I wanted to memorize the colours to memory in hopes that I could ever possibly recreate such a piece. 

Before I realized it, I looked down at my fingertips and took a step back from the piece. I wanted to paint. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt in so long.

It’d been months since I’d painted. Tamlin wanted me to keep painting, said it would be good for me, but that studio haunted me. I couldn’t go back. There was nothing left for me in there. 

One thought of trying to mix the red and white had me exiting the the showroom. Tears burned behind my eyes, and the last thing I needed right now was to make a scene at Tamlin’s party. 

After a while of meandering, drinking alone and making several trips to the washroom to check my half-assed hair and makeup, Tam’s blonde hair came into view and it was seven o’clock. 

His arm slid around me, too tight, and the easy grin on his face didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’ve you been? You’re late.”

“ _I’m_ late? Where have _you_ been?” I retorted lowly. “I’ve been here looking for you for hours.” 

“Have you been talking to people?”

I remained silent. The round tables were amply decorated with flush, exotic flowers that probably cost my yearly salary. Everything was gold-trimmed, pastel and proper, the usual colours of Tamlin’s personal assistant’s palette. 

Tamlin ground out, “You can at least _try_ , Feyre. For me.”

“I have been for the past year.” I snapped.

It was all we had time to say to each other before somebody came to shake Tamlin’s hand and bellow some inside stock-trading joke I didn’t understand before bursting into laughter. They followed us until we reached our table, right near the front of the room before the stage. Lucien and Ianthe were already seated, the former looking pale and tense. 

He shook his head when I shot him a questioning look. When it came to Ianthe, Lucien was always tense. 

The night passed by dreadfully. Making conversation was painful. Ianthe and Tamlin had plenty to talk about, though, with the drama in their elite circles that I didn’t care enough to be a part of. I’m sure most of the people here tonight were kind and interesting and wonderful people, but there was still that innate part of me that clung to the belief that most businesspeople were sucked dry of their souls. 

I looked to my boyfriend. _Most_ being the operative term. Not all.

Tamlin, though, began to grow tense. His head kept bouncing to the back of the room to a set of doors. His leg was bouncing beside me. It was so bad I had to put my hand on his thigh to calm him down. He put his hand on top of mine and shot me a grateful look, and I kissed him on the cheek. I knew he hated these things too. 

Lucien looked to Tamlin. “Have your friends showed up yet?”

Tamlin shook his head. “Any minute.”

“What friends?” I wondered. I knew most of Tamlin’s friends and business partners. They were all neatly classified under the rich white guy identification part of my memory. 

He shook his head, though. “You haven’t met them. You don’t want to meet them. They’re not necessarily good friends.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you in trouble? Is something wrong?” Nervousness bloomed in my stomach. We couldn’t repeat last time. We really, really couldn’t repeat everything that happened last time. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured in my ear. I sighed but leaned into his warmth anyways. Then suddenly he was up, and I scrambled to stay seated without falling out of my chair from the abrupt loss of contact. 

“I’ll be right back.” He declared before storming off to the set of doors off to the east wing of the gallery. There were three sets of feet. My stomach grumbled. Everything about this was off. 

I looked down to my plate and couldn’t finish it. Too rich. Too buttery. Everything, it was all closing in: the people, the finery, the utter lack decency…it was like being completely and truly alone in a room full of people. At a table filled with friends. 

Lucien laid a hand on my shoulder. “Fey? Are you okay?”

“I need some air,” I muttered, before stalking out to the gallery’s main lobby. I stared at the map before throwing myself into the twisting hallways, and cursing myself for wearing high heels as I climbed stair after stair. But finally, I found myself on the gallery’s rooftop, looking out over the water of the Sidra and wishing I was anywhere but here. 

Only I wasn’t alone. 

I nearly flinched when I saw who it was leaning across the building’s cement lipped edge. The city lights made his face seem older. Deep-set. Like life had dealt him yet _another_ shit hand and he was wondering whether to go all in or just fold. 

I mean, I was near the point of folding. I really, really was. 

Especially since I thought I was going to finally get some damned peace, yet now I had to face this prick. For the _second_ time today.

“Stalking me, darling?” 

“Could say the same for you, creep,” I called across the landing. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Apparently in the mere hours we’d been apart, life had taken a wrong turn for him. Probably didn’t happen too often judging by the look on his face. 

“All dressed up. Tell me, what are you doing here darling? You look like a minnow in a sea of sharks.”

I scoffed. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?”

“Are you going to keep asking me questions I don’t want to answer?”

Rhysand’s gaze held mine. We were only feet apart, but it was like a current ran between us. My mouth, puckered in a frown, only ignited the ever-lasting amusement in his eyes. That same electric, tension-filled feeling I felt in the coffee shop, like I didn’t know whether to throttle him or run my hands across his chest. 

I blinked. I couldn’t believe I’d just thought of that. I brushed it away, telling myself just because I wasn’t ordering didn’t mean I couldn’t look at the menu. 

Admitting defeat, my stare broke from his. Instead, I took position leaned against the cement railing, and marvelled at the city, the sea of lights and beauty before us. 

Before I knew it, Rhysand was beside me, the arm of his expensive suit nearly brushing mine. The warmth nearly leeched from his toned body. I wanted to press myself into him as the breeze flew over us, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“I’m not gonna lie, darling, I’ve had a shit day.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know. But I’m going to talk anyway. Because I need someone completely objective to discuss with.”

The silence stretched on with my muteness. Half of me wanted to listen, half of me wanted to walk away before I was in too far over my head. 

“You know when everything feels like it’s stacked up against you? Like nothing more could possibly go wrong, and then you turn around and it does?” He sighed. “I blink and days go by. I have no idea how I get here; half of the time I have no idea how I even get out of bed. It’s like I’ve made my way here to the top, I’ve got everything I could imagine.” The rush of the city cars filled in the quiet between us as he paused for a moment. “But I’m still fucking empty inside.”

I told myself it was the breeze that sent the shiver down my spine. Not the aching feeling I had as he said those words, as he described everything I’d been feeling over the past year of my life.

Then Rhysand chuckled. “By the Cauldron. I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy.” His breath fogged as he laughed again. “Guess I’ve got to find myself a new coffee shop.”

“No,” I replied instantly. His eyes flicked to mine, the surprise only presenting itself with the gentle up-flick of his eyebrows. “No. I know how you feel. I get it.” I cleared my throat. “It’s either completely normal to feel this way, or we’re both anomalies.”

“Honestly, I hope it’s the latter. I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like those people milling around downstairs. But here I am, fraternizing among them like we’re old friends.”

I shrugged. “Whatever keeps the roof over your head and food on the table.” I knew too many days with food on the table to deny that the money we had was extremely comforting.

He grinned, but it was sad. Morose. “That’s one way to put it.”

More silence ensued, but it wasn’t awkward. It was…peaceful. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out on Tamlin and I’s balcony at home just to watch the world spin and move and whirl around me. Most definitely because I couldn’t trust myself on a balcony anymore. My mind was a thing of its own; moving in toxic ways the rest of me balked at. 

“How long have you been a barista?” Rhysand wondered softly. 

“A year,” I supplied, “can’t go back to sugary drinks now, though. Not after all the shit I see going into them.” 

He chuckled, and I asked, “How long have you been empty on the inside?”

This time, the smile was full and bright, and it did reach his eyes. Rhysand said, “My entire life, darling. My entire damned life.”

“Well—”

The sound of metal screeching interrupted me, and a breathless voice called, “Feyre?”

I whipped around to see Lucien there, hand on his knee hunched over, trying to catch his breath. My heels echoed across the rooftop as I jogged towards him without toppling over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing here?” He sneered. “Why are you speaking with him?”

I wrinkled my nose and turned back to Rhysand. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lucien said, but threw a look Rhysand’s way nonetheless. A look about as unfriendly as they go. “We need you downstairs, Fey. Let’s go.” And with that Lucien began pounding down the stairs. 

But I looked back at Rhysand. He only waved lazily my way, and called, “Until next time, _Feyre_ darling.”

I bit back my smile as I in turn began thundering down the stairs. _Prick_. 

***

It appeared as though the banquet went smoothly considering the near empty glasses—being quickly refilled—and the laughter-filled, red-tinted faces that beamed as Tamlin took the stage. Under the lights, his golden hair looked smooth and gleaming where it fell naturally down to his ears, and his tuxedo highlighted his muscled body in all the perfect places. His face was flushed as well, and I knew we’d have to call an Uber tonight by the looks of it. I’d never learned how to drive—never needed to with public transportation and Tamlin—which meant me driving home was out of the question. Better to put Tamlin at the wheel despite the state he was in than to even attempt letting me near the driver’s seat. 

“As you all know, tonight is a celebration of the success of this company, of which you’ve all contributed immensely to, thanks to your handwork and dedication to our mission.” Applause erupted, and Tamlin’s smile brought my own grin to my face. To see the pride in his face…I knew despite all the complaints and exhaustion, he still liked what he did. 

“Spring Corporations has never seen better days, and for that, you all have my utmost gratitude and admiration.” More applause, to which Tamlin patiently waited to pass before adding, “but tonight is more than just our corporate success.”

My eyebrows raised in surprise. What else could Tamlin have to announce?

“Personally, things have been hectic. It’s been a good, prosperous year, but that doesn’t come without life’s ups and downs.” His eyes wandered through the crowd, until they finally befell me, and his eyes sparkled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my boyfriend so content. “Life has thrown a lot of ups and downs at me, and I wouldn’t have been able to handle them without my girlfriend.”

My heart was pounding in my chest. Oh Gods. I had no idea where he was going with this. 

Scratch that, I knew exactly where he was going with this, and it made me nearly sick to my stomach. 

“Feyre Archeron,” he said, “you are the true one and only love of my life. There’s nobody, no one else on this earth that brings me joy and understands me like you do.”

Tamlin took the microphone, and murmurs began spreading across the crowd as he wandered down the steps right before our table, right before me. 

I wasn’t breathing. 

Tamlin got down on one knee, and joyful gasps echoed through the room. With one hand, he fished a dark velvet box from his inner suit pocket, and cracked it open to present the largest emerald stone I’d ever seen, set onto a golden band. So typically Tamlin that I grinned.

“Feyre,” he murmured into the mic, his golden eyes brimming with silver as we stared at each other, “will you marry me?”

Fear paralyzed my body, yet I still choked out, “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes.”

The microphone screeched but I didn’t care as I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his, sealing our lifetime together, with a little voice in my head echoing, _There’s no going back now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the first chapter! Working on the second one, hoping to update every Thursday (and more so during the holiday break). If any of you have any comments, suggestions, edits or constructive criticism, please let me know! I love reading comments and feedback helps me edit my writing!  
> Besides that, enjoy!  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


	3. A Bitter Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to heat up in the business world.  
> Songs of the chapter: A Bitter Song by Butterfly Boucher for the first half and Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde for the second half.

_** Chapter 2: A Bitter Song ** _

Flowers. Cake flavours. Guests lists. Colour schemes. 

Outside of coffee and pastries, these consumed my life. Every waking minute spent outside of Hum’s was dedicated to wedding planning. Whether it be on my own—through countless emails and brochures forwarded to me—or with endless sessions with Ianthe, I was chained to agendas, schedules and lists. 

It was killing my brain cells. Slowly. Brutally. A slaughter I’d eventually understand once the wedding day came around—but nevertheless despised. 

Tamlin, thankfully, made a lot of decisions for us. Whenever we’d be in bed watching TV and a new email would pop up with more choices to be made, he’d take one look at it and have an answer. I wouldn’t think twice, select it and send it off in less than five minutes. 

If I had to look at centrepieces one more time, I was going to throw my tablet off the balcony. 

Work kept me steady, though. Rhysand didn’t make good on his promise of stopping by the day after the gala, and I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. But regulars stopped and chatted throughout the week, white-collar workers took up spots at the tables and kept me focused with the typing of their computers as a background noise—but besides that, it was radio silence. 

The nights got later for Tamlin. Ever since our engagement and the new business partners he’d met, he’d been working himself to the bone to keep them happy and to smooth out the agreements they’d made. I didn’t know what kind of business they were, but Tamlin briefly mentioned the ports, which Spring Corporation ran and up-kept. 

I’d often find myself alone. In bed. Staring up at the ceiling. 

There wasn’t much for me to do besides work, plan, sleep and eat—except on the occasional night when Tamlin was free, and we’d wrestle in the sheets. Besides that…it grew cold, in my head. Empty. Just like it was before the engagement. Just like it was after the accident. 

It was’t often, but every once in a while, the nightmares returned. The visions of glass scattering, the blood staining my hands. I remembered the body, the severed arm I found ten feet away from the car. 

It wasn’t surprising that the nightmares sent me running to the washroom to quietly heave up the pent up horror within me. I woke up the next morning feeling drained of life; drained of colour, drained of saturation and hue. 

But life continued on despite it all. No matter the reluctance rooted deep in my bones, they still pushed me out of bed in the morning and continued their course throughout the week that flew by. 

I couldn’t remember if it was Thursday or Friday. It was the puzzle I was trying to piece together as Rhysand waltzed in, his mood much more elevated than the last time I saw him, glumly perched upon the gallery’s rooftop balcony ledge. 

“Feyre, darling,” he murmured. My hands automatically began to bring his order together. It was second nature—and I blinked at how little thought it took for my hand to reach down to the non-dairy fridge for the almond milk. When Rhysand had become a regular for me, I didn’t know, but I also didn’t really mind. Seeing him today…it was like a refresher. 

“How are you?” I wondered quietly, unable to look at him for some reason, wincing as the steam machine barked and gurgled loudly in the quiet space. 

“Exchanging pleasantries? That’s not like you, darling. Where’s the bite?” He tapped his teeth together twice and I sighed. I could only shrug my shoulders. 

“Is something wrong?” He wondered, more quietly this time. The amusement faded, and all that was left was concern wandering in his eyes. 

I began to turn. It wasn’t any of his concern. "You look tired. Is my handsome face keeping you up at night?"

“Oh, bite me.” I snapped. 

His smirk was back. “Any time, darling.”

I turned for real this time and made my way to the back of the shop, claiming I needed to check the pastry stocks. The bell rang, singling he’d left despite the fact he normally would’ve dragged out our encounter to a torturous extent, and I returned to the front to see a ten dollar bill sitting on the counter. Dumbfounded, I stared. I had completely forgotten to take his payment. 

And as always, I put the ten in the register and the remainder in the tip jar. It wasn’t much, but over the past year and a half, that small sum had accumulated in the secret bank account I’d kept from Tamlin. 

Just in case.

***

“Do you have security here?” Rhysand wondered a week later. 

Another week of wedding planning. Late nights. Bad dreams. Rusting bones. 

Rusting mind.

When he came in this time, I’d already moved toward the espresso machine and pulled out the almond milk. Only this time he told me to make him something different. With almond milk—he didn’t eat dairy—but something out of his regular. It surprised me, and it took me a second to find something I thought he’d like. Looking at the assortment or syrups and flavours and combinations, I settled on something simple to switch up his normal coffee habit. 

“Why would I need security? In case some cracked-up caffeine addict attacks me if I fuck up their order?”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth,” he said with a grin, “and yes. More or less.”

I shrugged. “Nothing’s ever happened in the past. I’ve been a bit verbal with some unsatisfied customers, but never to the point of violence.”

“Do you know self-defence?” He asked a little louder, above the noise of the bean grinder. 

“I can throw a punch.” 

His eyes looked me up and down. “For some reason, I seriously doubt that.”

“What does that mean?”

I looked down at myself. Sure, I guess I wasn’t the most threatening person, and yes maybe I was on the skinner side—but I could throw a punch. Anybody could throw a punch. 

I said as much to Rhysand and he scoffed. “‘Anybody can throw a punch’? Not quite, darling.”

The smug attitude was starting to wear me down. The espresso machine whirred as it distributed the double shot, and I crossed the distance to the counter, cranked my fist back, and threw a punch square to his chest. 

Rhysand smirked as he easily caught my fist within his own, and in turn flicked up an eyebrow. _See?_ It teased.

“Whatever,” I muttered and turned back to the coffee. There was something about the interaction that sparked an ache in my chest. I poured the steamed almond milk into the coffee and sprinkled cinnamon on top before handing the cup across the counter. 

“Feyre,” Rhysand murmured, concern lining his eyes, “I didn’t mean to make you feel weak. I actually wanted to extend an offer to you.”

“Five dollars,” I told him and he handed over a twenty. I rolled my eyes at the way he flippantly spent his money, knowing full well he’d put the change I handed over in the tip jar. Though judging by the array of crisp, tailored suits he wore, money wasn’t much of an issue to him. “And whatever it is, I’m not interested in any more time spent around you than necessary.”

The jab made Rhysand laugh. “Well good thing it doesn’t involve me. My brother works in security detail. He teaches self-defence sometimes at the gym on Wind avenue. You should join.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t really need it.”

“You never know,” he shrugged. “I think you could use it. You never know what kind of rift-raft could pass through.”

“If by rift-raft you mean self-righteous obnoxious pricks, then you are absolutely right.”

He smiled, a full, toothy smile, and took a napkin to scrawl down what looked like a phone number before sliding it across the counter. “Here. Call him. He’s a prick like me, but he’s a great teacher.”

I groaned and handed Rhysand his change. “Of course he is.” He didn’t even acknowledge my outstretched hand before taking his coffee and turning for the door. 

***

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Feyre, you don’t need it. We’ve got security. You have me. Why would you want to learn self-defence?”

“To protect myself. You never know what can happen—”

“ _I_ protect you.” Tamlin asserted. He stood from where he’d been seated behind his desk to perch in front of it where my feet were planted into the ground. I felt like I was melting into the fibres of the carpet, and his perfectly shining leather shoes were stepping all over me. My eyes didn’t even bother to meet his. 

Because he was right. I didn’t need it. I knew full well we had an exhaustive security team keeping tabs at all times, just in case. Tamlin didn’t take risks when it came to our security. Not after everything. I told him, “I know. I’m grateful for it.”

His arm settled on my waist and I drew into him, relaxing into the warmth of his body against mine. “I love you. I’ll never let anything happen to you. Besides, there’s nothing to be concerned about anyway. We’re both safe.” But something kept whispering, _How can you be so sure?_

Yet all I whispered was, “I love you too.” His arms wrapped tighter around me and he sighed before pressing soft kisses to my neck. 

I couldn’t tell if his arms felt like home or a prison. 

***

It was a half hour past closing time, and Tamlin still hadn’t showed up to accompany me home. I never left without him. The one time I did he nearly had a heart attack and contacted the police to file a missing person’s report when I was just at home in the shower with my phone ringer off. 

So I locked the door to Hum’s behind me and made my way to Spring Corp’s lobby. Alis didn’t even blink when she saw and only waved me through with a smile. She worked reception two days a week to fill in for a woman who’d gone of mat leave, then the rest of the week at the penthouse. I returned her smile, but it felt forced as I tried to bubble up the nervousness building. Tamlin hadn’t even responded to my texts or calls. He always answered me, no matter what work he was tied up in. 

The elevator ride to the last floor of the building was always the most awkward. People lower in the company giving me side looks because they obviously had no idea who I was—and a person of my current appearance had no sense belonging in this corporate elevator—and those who did recognize me made the most awkward small talk. My face was burning in frustration as I finally made it off the cursed elevator and onto the executive floor after punching in the four digit password key into the elevator’s security keypad. 

The place was sparsely decorated in the modern sense—everything was sleek wood and white accents and gold trimming. Ianthe had designed it herself, and I shot the woman a bitter smile as I approached her desk. Her perfectly manicured baby-pink nails typed away at her keyboard, and she didn’t bother looking up at me until I cleared my throat. 

“Oh, Feyre! So nice to see you. Did you see the email I sent you about your appointment with the bridal shop?”

“Yes,” I lied, “I’ll give you an answer as soon as I check my schedule.”

“Perfect. Were you here for something?” She blinked her eyes, all doe-eyed as though it weren’t perfectly obvious that my ‘something’ was behind the two oak doors just past her desk. 

“My fiancee. Is he busy?”

Ianthe smiled, and I didn’t like her pause before she said, “No, go right on in. He should be wrapping up the day shortly.”

Despite the churning of my stomach and my instincts barking at me that something was off, I muttered some nicety before turning to the door and pulling it open. The wood groaned, and my footsteps were muffled by the distant sound of voices. 

“The deal was finalized yesterday. By next week all assets are being handed over. I’ll have complete control over the establishment and management.”

“What about the people working there? How will they be shielded from this?” The voice was familiar, and I couldn’t quite place it as I meandered past the front entrance where an immaculate suit jacket hung in the closet. 

“The workers are none of your concern. Leave that to me.”

“You’re unorganized. It’s sloppy. You know he’s not going to be happy about this.”

What the hell? I wondered quietly as I stood there, trying to make the sound of my breathing as quiet as possible. 

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think. You’re just security detail, Rhysand. This operation is none of your concern.”

Rhysand. The name thundered through my body, and my limbs turned ashen. It’s what finally made me turn the corner. I was frozen in place as I saw Tamlin, leaning over his desk with his palms flat against the wood. His face was flushed red as he glared at the man before him. 

“You seem to forget that I’ve been down this road before, Tammy,” Rhysand said, “I have been in your position and I am not new to this business. Trust me when I say that at the rate you’re going, this entire deal is going to sink because of your poor decision making.”

“Stay in your fucking lane, Rhysand. Though it seems you already have that under control, your arrangements with the big bosses isn’t quite as secret as you like. What is it she made you do? Is—” my fiancee stopped short, and my breath got caught in my throat as his eyes pierced through mine.

“Feyre.”

His tone was cold, assertive. I didn’t recognize the man in front of me, not as he stared at me with those anger-riddled eyes. 

I felt like I was disappearing as Rhysand’s head whipped around and saw me standing there, messenger bag flung over my shoulder, t-shirt coffee and sweat stained after the shit day I’ve had. Rhysand’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of me, and I wanted to throttle him. This was some kind of sick, sick joke. All of it. 

“Ianthe told me to come in,” I blurted out. “I’ll go wait in the car.”

Rhysand stared confusedly between Tamlin and I for a few moments until his eyes focused in on my ring. I took it off before the shift so as to not damage it. He was at the gala, but he'd been on the roof during the proposal. He couldn't have made the association between a barista and the CEO of Spring Corp. Now that he did, he was just like the rest of them: thinking I was a gold-digging fraud. 

Tamlin’s face was flushed red with anger, and I knew this wasn’t going to be a pretty conversation when we got home. The one golden rule: work stays at work. I wasn’t to get involved.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he ground out. 

Rhysand began laughing. A full, mirthless laugh, unlike any of the exchanges we’d had before. “She’s your fiancée?” He said bitterly. “You’re seriously putting your fiancée in the middle of all this?”

“Stay out of it.” Tamlin snapped. I took it as my cue to briskly walk away, slamming the door behind me as I jogged to the elevator and ignoring Ianthe’s weightless pleas. 

The doors shut behind me and the breath shuddered out of my body. This was going to be a long night.

***

Crisp, fall wind whipped at my face as we rode through the city. I had to put the window down to help the stifling silence between Tamlin and I. His hand had been clutched around the gear shift so tightly that his fingers looked translucent in the semi-darkness. 

What was there to say? I couldn’t tell who he was more frustrated with: Rhysand and whatever matter it was they’d been discussing or my intrusion on their seemingly confidential conversation. 

The elevator was too small as we rode to the fifty-ninth floor. He wouldn’t even look at me. My eyes remained down-cast, trained on my feet as the soft ping echoed through the space and released us into the penthouse. 

Tamlin didn’t storm to his office like I thought he would. No, instead his feet strode to the liquor cabinet and he pulled out a bottle of vodka, pouring a knuckle’s length into his crystal glass and knocking it back. Wearily, I stood there in living room, wondering where this was going to go. 

The silence stretched on too long. Tamlin poured himself more, half a glass this time, and took another long, fleeting sip. It was going to be one of _those_ nights tonight. The ones where I wanted to barricade myself in our room if only to escape his insufferable mood. 

“Tamlin,” I finally said, “please. Just talk.”

“We have a rule.”

“I messed up. I know.”

“We have a rule, Feyre!” He bellowed. I flinched as he raised his voice. It was normal. Just his temper. I knew how to handle this. 

“I know,” I pressed, “and I’m sorry that I fucked up. I know what I did was wrong. I was wrong.”

I repeated it over and over, if only he’d believe me. 

“I can’t afford this right now. Not with everything else.”

“Then talk to me, Tamlin,” I pleaded as I crossed the distance between us. His eyes fixed a point over my shoulder, he couldn’t even look at me. “Tell me what’s going on. What deal is this? Why am I…” my voice dropped to a pleading whisper, “What did Rhysand mean when he said I was in the middle of this?”

“Why the hell do you know him? How do you know each other?” Tamlin demanded. He pushed me away from him, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough for me to stumble a bit. The force of the impact surprised me, and I glared at him. Seeing the wrong in his actions made his eyes line with concern, and he sighed as he held out his hand to me. 

Tentatively, I took it and murmured, “He’s a customer at the coffee shop. We met last week. He’s just a customer, Tamlin. That’s it. I had no idea he was a client of yours.”

“He’s not a client,” Tamlin scoffed. 

“Then who the hell is he? And why is he concerned about my safety in whatever this deal is?”

Silence. Then, exasperated, he murmured, “Fey, you know the rule.”

“Tamlin, tell me right now or I swear to God I will walk out of here and track Lucien down for information.”

“Feyre—” he tried again. 

“No. Tell me.”

“I bought the coffee shop.”

He didn’t look me in the eye when he said it. 

I stared right at him, and he couldn’t even look me in the eyes. 

“You _what_?” I demanded. 

“I bought the coffee shop because it was going bankrupt. Andras couldn’t afford it anymore. He needed to sell it off before his losses got too deep.”

“What the hell does that have to do with security? About me being ‘caught in the middle of all of this’?”

“Nothing. It means nothing. He meant financial security, nothing more.” Tamlin sighed. “And that asshole doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, so don’t concern yourself over any lies he tells you. He’s only looking out for himself.”

“Who is he?” I repeated once more, more forcefully. 

Tamlin looked at me levelly, and said deathly low, “Rhysand Noctis is the CEO of Night Industries. He is a liar, world class manipulating cheat that tactically tortures his competitors for sport and fraternizes with the vermin of Prythian. All he wants is to destroy anybody in his path to success, so get him out of your head.”

I wanted to believe the words that came from Tamlin’s mouth, but they simply didn’t match the description of the man who’s Americano I brewed several times a week. I couldn’t imagine his mouth in anything but the easy smile he shot at me, certainly not a devil-incarnate CEO out to decimate the business world. 

They did seem fitting, though, for the man who’d sat across from Tamlin. The bite and dripping sarcasm that’d been in his voice…yes, I could see him as that man. 

“Okay,” I murmured, nodding my head. “Okay.” If Tamlin didn’t trust him, then I wouldn’t. Tamlin knew more about his world than I ever would. If Rhysand was bad, then I would ignore him. 

Tamlin smiled. It was small, and cautious, and it was probably the vodka working its way into his system, but he drawled, “You know what this means right? Me buying the shop?”

“What,” I sighed as I peeled my bag from my shoulder and set it onto the marble counter. 

His fingers fluttered to my waist. “You are officially my new employee.”

“Oh, Gods above,” I muttered, “my new boss is a hard-ass.”

His teeth nipped at my ear and I laughed, the sound echoing throughout the penthouse. 

***

When Rhysand Noctis entered the coffee shop the next morning, I did not smile. 

The smirk he was wearing slowly began to disappear with each step that brought him closer to the counter. I didn’t greet him. I turned to the coffee machine, my back to him, to block him out as much as I could. 

Even when he did utter a “Hello, darling,” I didn’t respond. Only murmured, “Four ten.”

“What did he say to you?”

The words sounded bland. If not quietly, tiredly amused. As though he’d been in this situation many, many times before and couldn’t believe he found himself here yet again. 

“Nothing,” I said. “Four ten.”

“You don’t wear your ring.”

“I don’t want to damage it.”

“So this is what you meant by being able to relate to me. Feeling like a fraud. I suppose being to Tammy boy’s little trophy wife would make anybody feel that way.”

My eyes snapped to Rhysand’s, and they were burning. Like hell itself. I channeled my own fury into my gaze, and said deathly low, “Four ten. And don’t you dare fucking speak to me ever again.”

He handed over the bill but suddenly I felt him grip on my palm and hold me tightly, enough to garner my attention and have me snarling in protest, but not enough to hurt.His grip pulled me in closer to him as his voice dropped to a dark, growling beast. “You have to protect yourself, Feyre. This is bigger than you know. Bigger than anything you could imagine.” He released my wrist, then began walking to the door, coffee in his hand. “Wonder why you haven’t heard from Andras in the last little while?” He called. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Andras died two days ago in a ‘car accident’. The day the deal went through.”

I stared at him, mouth gaping open. Andras. My quiet, soft-smiled boss who was always so kind and considerate of my schedule. 

Dead. Gone. 

“Like I said, this is bigger than you think. And you’ve got to protect yourself, Feyre.”

Without another word, the bell rang, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Nother update. Hope you're still enjoying!  
> Once again, feedback is appreciated. And needed! I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing and work. Don't hesitate to drop a comment, it'll make my day!  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


	4. Cringe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feyre's life begins to slowly unravel and missing pieces begin to reveal themselves. 
> 
> Trigger warning: this chapter deals with mention of domestic violence. If you are sensitive to this topic, please read with caution.  
> The song of the chapter is Cringe (stripped version) by Matt Maeson (you'll be seeing much more of this artist throughout this fic).  
> Link to song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaJqLCMUt7s

_** Chapter 3: Cringe ** _

“He’s dead. He’s dead, and now you own the coffee shop. Tell me why that doesn’t sound a little suspicious to me?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” Tamlin roared from where he sat in his desk chair. He’d barged into here after we’d arrived home and I quipped at him about what Rhys had told me earlier during the day. I’d given him the benefit of the doubt yesterday when I’d found out about Hum’s, but now I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. Not when it came to an innocent person’s death.

“There is something going on here that you’re not telling me. You bought the coffee shop and now my boss is dead. And I’m supposedly caught in the cross-fire of this entire thing but you won’t tell me what this _thing_ even is!”

“You’re still stuck on this?” Tamlin demanded. He stood from his desk and began stepping carefully towards me. His face was flushed with red, one of the veins in his foreheads pulsing in frustration. “You’re still stuck on that liar’s words?”

“This is more than whatever was said between you and Rhysand. Andras _died._ Then you supposedly just swooped in and bought his life’s work.”

Tamlin’s eyes widened, and they burned as his hands clenched to fists at his side. “Are you accusing me of murder?”

The tone of his voice dropped deathly, deathly low. My nervous swallow was audible in the silence that passed between us. 

My heart raced in my chest and I felt like I was going to faint with each step Tamlin took towards me. 

“Well?” He goaded. 

“What am I supposed to believe?”

“What else is there to believe?” He snapped. “Who told you this anyway?”

“Rhysand—”

“Why are you still seeing each other?” Tamlin exploded. He was a beast incarnate before me, the muscles of his arms clenched tightly with the pent-up anger coursing through his body. I was a wire strung so tightly, I felt like I was going to snap or cry or implode at any moment with the electricity within me. 

“He just came for coffee! I can’t refuse customers!”

“Yes you can, and you will. He’s not allowed there anymore.”

I jutted my chin out defiantly. I snapped, “Work stays at work. Don’t get involved.” I snarled, and poked him square in the chest. “That’s the golden rule isn’t it?”

There are a few moments in your life that just seem to stop. They happen in slow motion, like you’ve left your body, and you stare down at yourself screaming. 

Wishing. Hoping. 

Screaming. 

I stared down at myself as the palm of his hand—hands I worshipped, hands that worshipped me—met the tender skin of my face. 

It happened so slowly. It happened so slowly, but so quickly I blinked and it was over and I was back in my body, the pain floating through me like the aftermath of a shockwave. 

It was so quiet. 

Tamlin’s face fell and he stared down at his hand, guilt dripping from his face. 

“Feyre,” he whispered, like a plea, like a prayer. “Feyre, please. Oh Gods, Feyre.”

His hands wrapped around me and I didn’t fight him. No, I couldn’t do anything at all. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. 

I was standing there. Screaming. 

But all that came out was air. 

\+ 

To make up for what he’d done, he used his mouth his hands and his body. He gave everything he could, and the release was appreciated: to forget about anything and everything, for just a few seconds. 

I stared up at the ceiling the next morning unable to pull myself from bed. 

Tamlin tried to coax me with breakfast and coffee and pancakes, but all I could do was feign a pounding headache and sore stomach. He drew the curtains and got me a glass of water with some Advil and told me to take the day off. It only took two calls on his part to get somebody to replace me for the day. 

He stood at the door, torn, unsure whether to leave me here or not. But I convinced him I’d be fine on my own, that Alis would be here at some point any way. 

He left. And I was alone. 

Alone with my thoughts and the sound of my breathing. Alone with my useless vessel of a body stuck in the four walls of the penthouse without a thing to do. 

I should’ve just went to work. I should’ve just put my two feet on the ground and pushed off, but my limbs were leaden. My mind felt heavy. Nothing felt right, no matter how much I shifted in bed, no matter how many times I stretched myself out to find reprieve, I was stuck. 

There were weights on my eyelids dragging them shut but I couldn’t sleep. 

There were aches in my stomach but for the life of me I couldn’t eat. 

So I stayed in my bed, replaying the events of the past two days, trying to figure out when my life took such a drastic turn for the worst. Trying to figure out how the hell I ended up here, in bed, curled in on myself like the air around me oppressed the thought of my very existence. 

At some point the door to the penthouse creaked open, and a voice called out, “Feyre?”

I sighed at the sound of Lucien. “Yes?” I answered meekly. 

His footsteps followed until he stood there at my bedroom door, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. His eyes looked tired. His face seemed as though it aged in the days since I’d seen him. “He told me to come check on you.”

“I don’t know why. I’m fine, just not feeling up to it today.”

Lucien swallowed and we stared at each other for a few moments, me curled on my side with the sheets drawn up to my chest, him with a look of skepticism that wouldn’t wash itself from his features. “What is it?”

“Whatever questions I have, you won’t be able to answer anyway. Loyalty and all.”

He sighed and traipsed over until he sank down beside me on the bed. Lucien and I’s relationship used to be feisty, full of snark and bite irritability, but slowly transformed into something amicable. He watched out for me. He had my back. We counted on each other in the down moments, and he’d saved my ass more than a few times when things got strenuous between Tam and I. 

“What do you want to know?” He wondered quietly. 

“I’d like to know why the hell Tamlin suddenly bought my place of work the same day my boss is dead in a car accident, but I can’t ask anyone without accusing my fiancee of murder. You understand where I’m coming from?”

Lucien glanced at me sidelong. I could tell by the pained look in his eyes, it was killing him not to tell me. And I couldn’t blame him. His loyalties were to the company. His loyalty was to Tamlin. 

“All I can say, Feyre,” he said quietly, “is that our new partners aren’t like the usual deals we tend to.” He took a deep breath and said lowly, “Hybern and Company aren’t the straight and forward business like our other clients.”

Hybern and Company. I repeated it to myself over and over to make sure to look them up the second he left. 

“Are they the people from the gala that Tamlin met up with? The big clients I wasn’t allowed to be introduced to, the ones he left from dinner to meet?”

Lucien’s silence was answer enough. 

“What is he getting into, Lucien,” I pleaded. Desperation painted my voice an ugly colour. “What did he do?”

The male only replied quietly, “There is no blood on Tamlin’s hands, Feyre. That I can assure you. But starting now, the second you step back into that coffee shop, things aren’t going to be the same anymore. You need to prepare yourself.”

I swallowed hard. The intensity in Lucien’s eyes made my heart pound. 

“He can say anything he wants, but I want you to be safe. Protect yourself,” Lucien urged. “I don’t care how. Just make sure you can protect yourself.”

From what? I wanted to demand. From who? I had no idea who I could trust anymore. 

Lucien stood and straightened his jacket. “That’s all I can tell you for now. Just…watch over your shoulder every now and then.”

I wanted to threaten him. To twist his arm and demand he tell me the truth. But Lucien walked away without another word, and I was left there in my bed with more questions than answers. 

Ones that I’d try to find for myself as I typed into my laptop’s search bar: _Hybern and Company._

There was a vague looking front page. Something about real estate. Assets. Investments. Foreign trades. But more than that, there were news tabloids. Controversies. 

_Mr. Hybern faces another lawsuit._

_Fraud, again? Hybern and Company under fire._

_Sexual misconduct leads to the firing of one of Hybern and Company’s top partners._

_Hybern and Company’s ex-partner dead in car accident._

I couldn’t even look through them all. All they told me was _bad._ This was so, so, so bad. 

How could Tamlin wrap himself into this? Why the hell would he stick his neck out to get involved with people like this? 

Alis came and went during the day but I was glued to my computer screen trying to find every square inch of information I could. I discarded what seemed useless and tried to map out the full extent of this company’s reach and purpose, but only found myself with more questions. They were mainly focused in foreign trades at the moment, but what did that have anything to do with Tamlin? By the Gods, he worked in _real estate_. What could Spring Corp for Hybern that would possibly interest them?

I lost track of time only for the sound of the door creaking open once again to awaken me. Just by the sound of the heavy-set footsteps, I knew it was Tamlin, and shoved my laptop beneath my pillow after closing down my tabs. 

“Fey?” His voice called. It was timid. Shy. Like the shame that’d coated him last night after what he’d done. 

I tried to erase that moment of my life. I hadn’t thought about it all day until now as the fear began to settle into my bones at the sound of his voice. 

“In here,” I croaked. I felt weak and weathered. 

I didn’t want to see him. I couldn’t face him. 

The door opened, and he stood there with that small smile of his with a paper sack tightly coiled in his hands. And even though the fear was there, even though I felt like all the muscles in my body were clenched in his presence, I melted at the sight of him.

Tamlin set the bag on my nightstand and sat beside me. The mattress bent with his weight, and I shifted to face him. His hand settled gently on my bare shoulder, rubbing softly over the skin back and forth. 

My eyes closed, and I let out a sigh. 

“Feeling better?” he wondered quietly. 

I shrugged my shoulders. Everything still felt hazy. As though I was seeing everything through a filter. With all that I'd learned today... 

I didn't know what to believe anymore. 

“I got your favourite,” he murmured. “Turkey noodle soup.”

I smiled and took his hand in mine. There were a million things I wanted to ask. A million things I wanted to say. 

If only to gain some semblance of truth in the lies I was surrounded by. But all that came out was, “Thank you.”

“About last night...” he trailed off. 

The image of his open hand slammed into my mind and I shook my head. “Nothing. It's fine.”

“Feyre, you don't know how sorry I—”

“Tamlin,” I interjected quietly but forcefully, “it's okay. Let's just let it go.”

“Okay,” he said gently, then took my hand. “Let's go eat.”

I smiled and nodded, but it felt like a lie. 

+

When I went to work the next day, it felt like months had passed. 

Though it was the exact same coffee shop, though I knew nothing about it had changed, it felt different. It felt wrong. 

Andras had loved Hum's. It was his baby, his pride and joy. To think he was dead, gone, his business in the hands of somebody who definitely didn't know the first thing about coffee...

Tamlin walked me to the door, and I went to kiss him goodbye like we did every day, but he shook his head. “Some things I need to explain before you start today.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tamlin just took my hand and lead me to the back storage room where the fridge and extra stock was. There was a large garage-like sliding door whenever shipments came, but usually Andras bought our stock wholesale and delivered it himself. 

“Things are going to be a bit different,” Tamlin said, and my brows lifted. 

“What do you mean?”

“We’re getting shipments twice a week now,” he said. “I’m introducing more pastries and sandwiches into the shop. Tomorrow they’re coming to install the pastry windows and panini grill.”

“So you just made my job harder,” I said. 

He smiled at my pointed look and slung an arm around my waist to pull me into his side. “Just means your Christmas bonus has a few more zeros at the end.”

I rolled my eyes despite the fact that my stomach was in knots. Everything about this felt weird. Tamlin stood there, unsure what to say before kissing my forehead and murmuring, “Text you when I’m done?”

I nodded and he left, leaving me standing there by myself in the storage room. My eyes trailed along the garage door skeptically. Sandwiches and pastries. It was just _sandwiches and pastries_. 

But something about this seemed off. Whatever he was covering up with his bloody sandwiches and pastries cost Andras’s life. And was costing me my security. I had no idea what it was, but there was no way that I was just going to stand idly by while Tamlin got involved into Gods know what. 

No, instead I went rifling through my leather messenger bag until my hand clutched a half water-logged napkin. The numbers hadn’t been completely ruined, though, and I clutched my cellphone as my shaking hand punched in the number. 

The tone rang through once, twice, before a deep, rough male voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, um, my name is Feyre and somebody referred me to you? For self-defence classes?”

“Ah, I see. Which one of my brothers has been handing my number out to pretty girls?”

+

His name was Cassian. The self-defence trainer. I see why Rhysand had called him a prick; their personalities were so similar it wouldn’t have surprised me if it had been him on the other end of the call. I didn’t mention who had sent me to him because I didn’t want to give Rhysand the satisfaction of knowing that I’d listened to his warning. This was something I did for me. 

Keeping it a secret from Tamlin, however, was going to be difficult. But I scheduled our sessions for Sunday mornings at nine. That’s when Tamlin usually met with co-workers and clients for breakfasts, or went to the gym for a quick workout. I could just tell him I was running an errand—going to deliver some dry cleaning to Alis and picking a few things up at the grocery store. Getting around Tamlin was easy, and the gym Cassian worked at was only a fifteen minute walk from the apartment. Worse comes to worse I’d call an Uber and pay it off on my secret debit card. That way Tamlin would never know, and never have to worry about me.

I was enough of a burden to him already. The least I could do was find a way to protect myself without always relying on him. 

The days began to blur by. I was either at the shop or at home or Tamlin would want a change and we’d go out for dinner. It seemed for a while that everything was moving so fast and I was stuck in my own little dimension, always one beat behind the rest of the world. 

At the shop, things sped up so quickly during the day now that I had to memorize an entire new menu. Being one person manning the coffee orders and the food orders was beginning to pile up. Though it still stayed decently busy—enough for only one person to handle—I found myself sweating after rushes passed. 

At least it made the days go by faster. At least it took my mind off of everything, if only for a little while, before I’d go home to face the ceaseless worrying, wondering, overthinking—all trying to connect the dots between Tamlin’s new partners, Rhysand and what everything had to do with me working at the coffee shop. 

I was a barista, for fuck’s sake. Not a front for the mob. 

Every now and then, I would find myself in the back storage and have a little spike in my heart rate when the bell rang. I’d rush forward to the front only to see that the blue eyes I’d been hoping to see weren’t there. And that my mind kept wandering to a person I swore I’d never speak to again. 

I hated myself for it. Endlessly. Yet I couldn’t help but have my thoughts drift to his gleaming hair and strong, sharp jaw. 

Sunday came before I knew it. The night before I’d told Tamlin that I was going out in the morning, and he brushed it off by saying that he was meeting up with Lucien for breakfast at their usual spot. It was a tight fit, but I squeezed my workout clothes into my messenger bag and flung random articles of clothing into a plastic cover to make it seem like I was bringing dry cleaning to Alis. Tamlin didn’t even bat an eye as I left the apartment. 

Walking with the clothes was a bitch but I nodded along to my music anyways, stomach in knots, trying to calm my nerves at the prospect of meeting someone for self-defence classes. What had driven me to make such a stupid, brash decision? Tamlin would be furious if he found out. And how was I going to help myself out anyway? Was learning to throw a punch _really_ going to save my life?

As I stood in front of Wind Avenue Gym, I took a deep breath before pushing the door open. 

My hands were shaking at my sides, but I walked up to the counter and rang the bell. The waiting area was small, quaint, and behind the double doors I could see the boxing rings, punching bags and other workout equipment all spread out across the wide open room. There must have been two dozen people there, either in groups or alone. They looked professional, like they’d been doing this for years. 

Here I was, meek and meagre, unable to throw a hook without hurting my wrist. 

A broad-shouldered man came out from the staff room with a smile already upon his face. 

I don’t know what kind of genes ran in Rhysand’s family, but my jaw nearly dropped as another shoulder length dark-haired, dreamy-eyed man stuck his large, calloused hand between us. “You must be Feyre. I’m Cassian.”

I took his hand and shook it gently, and his mouth tilted to the side. “Just judging by that sorry excuse of a hand-shake, I can tell we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

I didn’t know what it was about the mocking jab he made that had me barking out a laugh. “How do you keep clients? Or friends for that matter?”

He flashed me another wide, smirking smile that probably made girls melt. “Probably my good looks. They make up for what I lack in social skills.”

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch, you know that?” I said boldly. 

Amusement danced in his eyes, and he paused for a moment. “You. I like you. Now get in the ring. If you’re gonna mouth off, you better back it up.” 

I mimed a one-two punch and he let out another full, rich laugh before sending me off to the changing rooms. 

+

“No. Feyre, you can’t drop your other arm. Right now it’s all that’s protecting you from this fist slamming into your jaw.” He pointed to his right hand that faked a hook to my left cheek, unprotected by my absent hand. On instinct I kept dropping it every time I tried to punch. Sweat dripped down my forehead profusely, and I tried to wipe it off on my shoulder. 

“And you’ve got to stop cranking your fist back before you punch. I can tell before you even land it what you’re trying to do. An oncoming attacker will have you on the ground in seconds.”

“Is there anything I’m doing _right_?” I ground out. 

He grinned. “You’ve got a very intimidating attack face.”

I sighed in defeat and slumped against the elastic bands surrounding the ring. “Gods, I am not cut out for this.”

“Feyre,” Cassian chided as he reached for my water bottle, “it’s your first lesson. Don’t expect to be Muhammed Ali after spending an hour in the ring. You’ve just gotta keep practicing.”

He handed me my water bottle and I sipped from it gratefully. All morning I’d been learning punches, kicks, sequences, working on my core—every muscle and bone within me ached, and I sweat through my t-shirt about a half hour ago. Thank the Gods they had showers here. I said, “But I just feel so pathetic. Cassian, I can’t throw a punch.”

He looked me up and down then said, “Tell me something you’re good at.”

“What?”

“What’s something that you’re really, really good at?”

Besides being a shitty person? I mumbled, “I paint every now and then.”

“If you told me to paint something right now, I would probably only manage a few stick figures and a sun with sunglasses at the top corner of the page. You know the ones little kids draw? Yeah. That’s all I could manage.”

I snorted. “Art and throwing a punch are not the same thing.”

“Except they kind of are,” he countered. “How long have you been painting?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Since I could remember. I used to draw a lot as a kid.”

“And I’ve been in karate classes since I was able to walk. It’s something I learned. Something I’ve practiced; something I’ve mastered. You can master anything. You can learn anything. But if you give up on the first go, then you are setting yourself up to fail, there’s no doubt about it.”

Around us, the sound of leather hitting leather sounded out as men and women pounded at the punching bags, at each other—nothing but encouragement. Nothing but lethal, honed determination. 

“So that means I’ll see you next Sunday?”

He chuckled and clapped me on the back. “Damn right you will.”

+

I showered as quickly as I could and half sprinted back to the penthouse. When I arrived at the garage, the car wasn’t back yet, which meant I still had time to clean up and stash away the clothes that were to be supposedly laundered. I was exhausted, and my arms felt like they were about to fall off, but for the first time in a while, my head felt a little sharper. A little clearer. Like the fog had lifted, if only momentarily, and I felt like myself once again. 

Only Tamlin came home, the day passed by with nothing to do but move around the house—constantly moving, but doing absolutely nothing—and planning. Wedding planning, future planning…all these things that seemed so insignificant. All these things that the secrets were hiding behind. Because the fact remained that I still fell asleep every night beside a man I questioned more and more every single day. 

+

Before I knew it, I was tripping over the days and weeks. I blinked and found myself with only three months until the wedding. Our engagement was short, we wanted to be wed as soon as possible—but three months was like a sentence of some sort. 

Especially now that I could barely get out of bed every morning. Now that the nightmares hit—and they hit _hard_ , dragging me out of sleep night after night to make me heave up the contents of my stomach. All I was good for anymore was watching the TV, bleary eyed, and counting away the minutes behind the counter at Hum’s until I could go home and sleep. It didn’t help that Tamlin got busier and busier, that most nights he only came home when I was already in bed. Our interactions were short, to the point. The only kind of reprieve I’d get was when our skin touched and I could find a few seconds of relief. But even those moments seemed to be growing weaker and weaker between us. 

It was crescendoing to the point where I didn’t even _speak_ most days, and I found myself so bored one morning in the coffee shop that I was rifling through the back counting inventory when I knocked over a box full of pre-packaged ground coffee beans. The box tore open and the contents flew everywhere. 

But it wasn’t Mother Parker’s light roast, the red packages I usually tore open without blinking every morning. No, it wasn’t coffee as I thought would usually reside in a _coffee shop storage room_. 

Instead I found myself staring at clear packages, about the size or a quarter, carrying individually wrapped little black pills. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha probably saw that one coming. Tamlin? Being Shady? Usually = illegal activity.  
> Going to try to update as soon as I can :) Please don't hesitate to drop a comment! Love feedback, constructive criticism or just some happy words :)  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening! Happy holidays everyone!  
> Kat


	5. My Body is a Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feyre confronts Tamlin about said pills found in her coffee shop. Song of the chapter: My Body is a Cage by Arcade Fire  
> Link to song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pyp34v6Lmcc
> 
> TW: Domestic violence, relationship abuse. Please read with caution.

_**Chapter 4: My Body is a Cage** _

Pills. I tore open more boxes, and all I was met with was _pills._

The four walls seemed to close in on me. How could this be happening? Why were there drugs all over my storage room?

More importantly, why the _fuck_ was my fiancée involved in a drug deal?

I stared at the piles and piles of tiny plastic wrappers and the contents they held. Oh Gods, we were in such deep, unending shit. 

The bell to the shop rang, and I wiped my hands on my apron. There was no way I could get through the rest of this day without speaking to Tamlin first. I needed to close the shop, to call Tamlin right now—

“Feyre?”

The voice had my head snapping up to meet the dark, deep blue eyes. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at Rhysand before me, concern lining his face. He was once again wearing an immaculate suit, though the same cocky, smug swagger that usually oozed from him seemed to be absent today. 

“Are you alright?” He asked more quietly this time. 

“Alright?” I scoffed. The laugh that rang out throughout the shop was mad and mirthless. “I am losing my fucking mind, Rhysand. But you might be able to help. You’re involved with this whole Hybern mess, right?”

Rhysand’s eyes widened. “He told you?”

“No,” I shook my head, a sneering smile on my face, “I just walked out back and found my coffee supply filled with fucking drugs. But that’s ‘nothing to worry about’, right?” When he said nothing I repeated more forcefully, “ _Right_?”

“Feyre,” he murmured. 

“No, don’t,” I held my hand up to quiet him, then supported myself by leaning against the counter. The ground beneath me felt like it was shaking. Everything was collapsing in on me, everything was falling apart—

“Feyre you’ve got to breathe. In and out. Feyre, _look at me._ ” 

I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing until my free hand was clutching my chest and tears were streaming down my face. Rhysand shook his head then swiftly strode over to me from the side entrance on the counter. Before I knew it, both of his hands were on my arms and I was sobbing through my teeth, wondering how the hell my life had come to this, sobbing in the middle of my place of work because I’d found my boyfriend’s company’s stack of _drugs_ in the storage room. 

After a while though, the tears stopped flowing. The ache in my chest began to ease, and I could breathe again. 

“Close the shop,” Rhysand said lowly, “and I’ll call Tamlin to let him know we’re coming up right now.”

“No, you shouldn’t be involved in this. He hates you.”

Rhysand laughed as he guided me from out behind the counter. The warmth at my side was steadying, the pressure on my arm a grounding force that kept me focused. “I know he hates me. But I’m his security detail, and you knowing about all of this is a breach of security, which means whether Tammy likes it or not, I’m involved.”

People in the lobby stared at me but I didn’t care. Even as I looked down at myself and realized that I was still wearing my barista apron. 

“Don’t worry, they’re not looking at you, darling,” Rhysand murmured in my ear. 

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because they’re staring at me. The CEO of Night Industries who owns half the city.”

A sniped comment sat on the tip of my tongue, but the energy to release it had been drained the moment I laid eyes on the contents of that box.

The receptionist waved us through to the elevator without batting an eye. Rhysand tipped his head to her, but all I could do was try to pay attention to Rhysand’s voice and put one foot in front of the other. “Then what the hell are you doing working security detail for Spring Corp?”

The smile he flashed was a fake, dazzling one that showed all of his white, straight teeth. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t darling?”

The elevator doors closed behind us, and Rhysand let go of me. I felt cold without his presence next to me. 

For the first time since I’d met him, the man stayed silent for more than thirty seconds. I was grateful for the quiet, because all my mind could focus on were those pills. 

“Feyre?”

Rhysand’s hand was extended towards me, and I realized I was still standing in the elevator despite the fact that we’d arrived at the executive floor and the doors were open. 

I didn’t take his hand. Instead, my feet stomped on the wood floors. Ianthe protested, but I didn’t give a shit as I pulled open the heavy oak doors and meandered my way into Tamlin’s office. 

The sunlight was glaring through the floor to ceiling windows. They extended panoramically for an incredible view of the city. All around, there were plants and flowers blooming in vases and large, clay pots. They gave life to the space. Tamlin said they calmed him; and I felt their reassuring qualities as soon as I saw them. 

I remembered the first time Tamlin had brought me up here shortly after we first met. All I’d felt then was awe and marvel and wonder in the arms of the man that I’d fallen hard for. 

But now as I stared at that same man before me, all I felt was anger. Ugly, writhing, untamed anger. 

“Feyre?” Tamlin looked up from the documents lining his desk. I wondered which ones were for his illegal activities. Did they have a special filing cabinet all to themselves? Tucked in perfectly normally with all the rest?

“Why aren’t you in the shop?” He tried once more, gentler this time. His eyes snapped to something behind me, and the heavy footsteps told me that it was Rhysand who must’ve walked in behind me. 

“Tell me why I just found drugs in the storage room.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tamlin’s gaze slid back to mine. He was good: his eyes didn’t widen, his face remained impassive. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me why,” I growled louder this time, “I just found boxes full of _fucking pills_ in the coffee boxes!” I tore the sockets from my pocket and threw them at his chest. The black pills fell to the floor in a heap, and the their impact against the wood was the only sound throughout the entire office. 

For a moment, his lips parted, and there was panic in his eyes. Only he moved past me completely and went straight to Rhysand. “What the hell did your guys do?”

“They weren’t my guys. You told me to let _your_ guys handle the loading after the last shipment. It was Bron and Hart who took over yesterday’s units.”

“Then why are the units still there?!” Bellowed Tamlin. The sound made me flinch instinctively. 

Rhysand snorted. “Probably because Bron and Hart can’t tell their left from their right. Good luck explaining to Hybern why his latest shipment is full of coffee beans, Tammy.” With that Rhysand clapped him amicably on the back then sat on the lounge chair in the seating area, as though this were just a _normal_ conversation about _normal_ things and not _criminal offences._

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Your fiancée’s pushing drugs, Feyre. Honestly, I don’t know how you haven’t found out sooner.”

“Rhysand, will you please shut the fuck up for once in your miserable life?” Tamlin yelled. All Rhysand did was send him his most cocky smirk he could muster. 

“Is it true?” I asked Tamlin. With each step he took towards me, I took one step back. “Is this all true?”

Tamlin sighed. “Feyre, please. You have to listen to me.”

“No,” I shook my head, ready to turn and leave. “Not anymore. I’m done. _I’m done_.”

“Feyre, please,” he pleaded. His hands wrapped around mine and he turned me around. There was concern and fear lining his eyes, and for once I couldn’t care less. 

“Rhysand, get out of here.”

Silence. Then, “Out. Now.”

I heard a sigh then footsteps trailing to the door. As soon as it closed, I was on him. 

“You lied to me! You lied straight to my face, Tamlin!”

“I did no such thing!” He shouted back. 

“I asked you if there was a reason that I would need protection, and you said no.”

“Because you don’t. You are protected at all times Feyre, and there is absolutely no threat against your life.”

“There are drug dealers coming in and out of the storage room twice a week!” I shrieked. How couldn’t he see reason? How couldn’t he see how wrong this all was? “Hell, I am staring at one right now!”

“I’m not a drug dealer, Fey,” he murmured quietly. “Now stop accusing me and just let me explain.”

Everything told me that this was wrong. That I should be running. If I was smart, I’d run, and try to make something of the little life I had without him. But I couldn’t. 

There was good in Tamlin. He was a good man, and he loved me. That, in this world of lies and uncertainty, was the only thing I was sure of. 

So I sighed and made my way to the chaise lounge that Rhysand had been sitting on only minutes ago and said quietly, “Explain.”

He didn’t waste anytime. “The company was going through financial difficulty after the stock dropped. We were running late on a few payments, other clients were dropping us left and right, and we owed a lot of people a lot of money. Hybern came to me and offered some help.”

“By selling drugs,” I said emphatically once more. 

“No, by shipping drugs. I’m just a paper-pusher, and it’s short-term anyways.” He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “It’s awful. I know it’s awful, and you don’t need to tell me over and over that it’s illegal. I know what it is. But I also know what I’m doing, and at this point I’m willing to try anything to help this company get back to where it should be. To help my family legacy.” He sat beside me, and arm tentatively reaching out to touch my shoulder. “To help us.”

“How could you not tell me this?” I asked. There was a part of me that understood where he was coming from. That part told me to just drop all of this, let it pass—like he said, it was short-term. It would be over before it even started. But the rational, reasonable part of me was still balking amidst all of this. 

“Because I didn’t want to worry you, Feyre. Seeing you like this drives me crazy.”

I pushed off the ivy velvet chaise lounge and stalked over to the window. Down below nearly eighty storeys people milled about, living their ordinary lives, unaware of the upheaval in the state of my world right now. It always baffled me, the fact that our own lives seem so big and catastrophic when there were billions of others out there living their own big and catastrophic lives as well. 

If any of this was going to work, if I truly wanted to make this relationship work, I needed information. I needed something from his part. 

“I want in. I want to know what’s going on, which means you will answer all of my questions, and I want updates whenever something happens regarding this whole situation.”

He sighed, and wandered over to where I stood gazing across the city. “Feyre, I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

“Then marry someone who’ll put up with this,” I snapped. 

The air seemed crisper as Tamlin tilted his head slightly to the side, and the fury began to pulse in the veins on his forehead. “Do you not want to marry me?”

When I looked at him, my eyes filled with tears, as though the brunt of everything that happened had finally truly hit me. “Tamlin, I—“ I hiccupped on a sob. “I’ve been drowning. For months, I feel like I’ve been drowning. And this, all of it, the secrets and this weight that’s on my shoulders—it’s like I’m drowning. And you’re right there, shoving my head under.”

One moment, we were fine. One moment life was perfectly big and catastrophic. 

The next, it was small. And pathetic. And fragile. As he took both of my wrists, held them above my head and slammed me into the window, I felt like I was already dead. 

Looking down at the street that seemed miles and miles below us, I thought I was going to die. 

But Tamlin let go and collapsed into tears. I crumpled to the ground in a heap of sobs. 

There were so many ‘Sorry’s, so many ‘I love you’s, but I just kept disappearing with each one. 

+

“What happened?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Rhysand chased me to the elevator doors, hot on my heels, and demanded once more, “Feyre. Talk to me.”

“Not now, Rhysand.”

We stood there for a moment, staring each other down, until he asked, “Are you alright?”

I didn’t have the energy to answer. I only shook my head. 

He looked over his shoulder before stepping in closer to me and saying quietly, “I’ll come by the shop monday Feyre, if you have any questions. Would you like that?”

My face burned with shame. I didn’t know why—there was nothing that I should be ashamed of or guilty for. But being caught in this situation, being tossed aside while the person I was about to marry made such brash decisions—I felt like a child. 

So I only nodded my head and entered the elevator without looking back. 

+

“One more round. Twenty one-two punches as a finisher.”

I nodded my head, despite the fact that my entire body felt leaden. Any minute I was probably going to pass out on the ground, but this is what I needed. Right now, my mind was here: with each punch, with each clench of my muscles, I was right here and not in the turbulent world of drugs and business and money. 

“Feyre?”

“Hm?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Cassian lowered the sparring pads and I protested. He pointed to my water bottle, and I sighed before taking my gloves off and reaching for another swig. Like every session, I was drenched in sweat, and my legs were shaking as I squatted over to shove a few lungfuls of air into my body. 

“You can take your sweatshirt off, you know. It’s a gym. Women workout in sports bras all the time.”

“Are you asking to see my boobs, Cassian?” I panted. 

He rolled his eyes. “No. I just don’t want my boxing ring to turn into a slip ’n slide because of your sweat.”

I flashed him a vulgar gesture. “I’m fine.”

“Feyre, come on,” he said seriously, “you’ve got a t-shirt under. I just don’t want you passing out. I’m serious.”

“I’m fine,” I said once more. “Last round.” The gloves were soaked with sweat as I slid them back on, and Cassian let out another frustrated sigh but held up the pads nonetheless. 

Every ounce of my remaining strength was poured into the punches. Despite the fact that my life was practically falling apart, my fiancee was involved in dealing drugs and my place of work was the front of said drug operation, at least I could really punch the shit out of something every once in a while and feel like a human for a few seconds. At least, for a few seconds, I wasn’t Feyre Archeron, the fraud, the murderer, the liar and deceiver—

“Done,” Cassian announced, and I slumped over. My shirt was damn near drenched in sweat. Both of us knew that I smelled disgusting, but thank the Gods Cassian for once kept his comments to himself. Right now, I could barely tolerate the bantering anymore. I barely had the energy for living, let alone wit. 

With every session, we stretched on the floor, and the release in my muscles was sweet enough to make the workout worth it. Since things had gotten heated at work, Tamlin usually went into the office on weekends in the morning. He hadn’t had a full day off in at least two weeks, and I could tell it was beginning to wear on him—yesterday in the office proved that it was wearing on him. Which meant sneaking around wasn’t at all difficult anymore. I didn’t even have to pretend to be carrying dry-cleaning to Alis this morning. 

And there was some improvement, with the boxing. Even though each week felt like I was growing more tired, more weak—my energy here in the ring begged to differ. 

Cassian said as much. “You’re seriously improving, Feyre. But now that you’re training harder you’ve got to keep up with your calorie intake as well.”

“I eat,” I countered, which was true. Most of the time I ate two dense meals a day. Three if I was up to it, but two at least. 

“Not saying you don’t,” Cassian hedged carefully, “just trying to help out.”

“Well, I’m fine,” I sighed. 

Only he replied, “You say that a lot, Feyre. People say those two words a lot, and that--more than anything--is a tell-tale sign that they’re lying. So what’s going on?”

Two breaths. In, and out. Then I was up, pushing off the ground, weaving through the ring’s ropes. I called, “See you next weekend.”

Cassian tried to protest, but I pushed through the swinging doors of the women’s locker room. 

The truth was, I didn’t own any long-sleeve workout shirts. 

And the truth was, after what happened yesterday, there were bruises up and down my wrists. 

I kept telling myself that Tamlin hadn’t meant it, but there was such…indignation in his eyes. An image I would never forget, a _feeling_ I would never forget as I felt the ground slip out under me eighty storeys up in the sky. 

He’d kissed every part of my body for forgiveness. I told him over and over that it was okay, that I forgave him. But the lies tasted so bitter on my tongue I nearly choked as they escaped my mouth.

Tears blurred my vision as I changed back into my regular clothes and tightened my messenger bag over my shoulder. They fell onto my cheeks as I waded down the street away from Wind Avenue Gym and back to my apartment where I’d spend the rest of the day reliving the same cycle over and over and over again until I was dead, or finally decided that I wanted something more than this

At this point, I thought, death was probably the more likely option. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently on a writing binge and will probably update this before the 25th. Glad to see that you're enjoying this story! I'd also like to hear your opinions on this troubling question: do you as a ready prefer shorter, more frequent updates or longer weekly updates? I'll try to model my updates based on the responses I receive :)  
> Once again, your comments make my day! Any feedback, snide comments, constructive criticism or reactions are welcomed in the comments below! They make me feel like I'm writing this for a reason and motivate me to push through the next chapter.  
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	6. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Domestic violence, physical abuse. 
> 
> The one where Tamlin figures things out, and Feyre realizes she's lost everything.  
> Song of the chapter: Trouble (stripped) by Halsey https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2aTxmwRiJQ

_** Chapter 5: Trouble ** _

I was asleep when Tamlin got home Sunday night. Well, I was ‘asleep’. I’d felt the kiss he pressed to my bare shoulder before rolling over onto his side. Then I stayed up most of the night rethinking all that’d happened in the last few months, wondering how life had gotten this messed up. 

Rhysand’s words came back to me, how he’d promised that he’d answer my questions tomorrow morning. Tamlin had never explicitly agreed to answering my questions, and at this point, I was in no mood to try and coax any sort of information out of him. Both my mind and my body couldn’t handle it anymore. 

The ceaseless commotion of the city life kept me company as I stared out the floor to ceiling windows that stood on the far end of the room, the wall closest to my side of the bed. I used to sleep on the other side—I always felt like I was going to roll off the bed or something and find myself tumbling down onto the sidewalk in my sleep. But after the accident, I’d switched sides: I needed the open space. I’d been stuck inside that car for too long, and the claustrophobia hadn’t left me since. 

Blood splattering across the concrete surfaced in my mind, and my eyes snapped open. I would not regress. I _could_ not. 

If I went back to who I was after the accident, I was afraid I’d never make it through this. 

So I compiled the list of questions mentally until my eyelids felt too heavy and I drifted off, unable to keep myself awake any longer. 

+

It felt like I was fucking up every order that came through. Whether it was cream instead of milk or two sugars instead of one, I kept pouring the cups down the sink and starting over, the white ball in my chest growing tighter and tighter with each screw-up. 

What made matters worse was my wrist. It kept aching, dully when I wasn’t using it, and in sharp bursts whenever a rush pulled through. My forehead was lined with sweat, and my face was practically sore with every wince. 

By the time lunch swept around, I almost got up in a man’s face because I put ‘too much’ whipped cream on his hot chocolate. He’d stormed out of the shop with his middle finger up, and I was ready to climb out from behind the counter and hunt him down. I was snarling like a feral cat as Rhysand walked in, eyebrows raised. 

“Did you make him a decaf by accident?” He called out smugly from the entrance. He just stood there, leaning against the wooden doorframe, and I rolled my eyes. 

I said, “Try too much whipped cream, if that’s even an issue.”

Rhysand chuckled and finally ventured further into the shop until he was leaning up against the counter, sitting upon one of the bar stools. I made him his usual, in a ceramic mug this time, knowing he’d be lingering today—and Rhysand accepted the mug gratefully. 

“You know what, I’ll take one of those tuna paninis as well, if you don’t mind,” he added.

“Feeling adventurous today?”

“No, I’m ravenous.”

“Tuna hits the spot for you?” I wrinkled my nose. 

“Pescatarian,” he explained, “and there are other things I’d like to devour, but that would be inappropriate to mention while I’m eating.”

My cheeks warmed—nearly as hot as the panini press—and I replied, “You’ve never held yourself back before.” 

“Yes, but telling you exactly how I’d like you splayed out on that table over there would put a dent in your engagement I think.”

I choked on the breath in my throat and turned around to face him, feline smirk and all. “And what makes you think I’d ever say yes to you?”

“Well, the heated cheeks, for one. And the way you froze, for another. I’m quite good at reading body language, Feyre.”

“Can you read this?” I held up my middle finger and presented the sandwich to him, of which he immediately took a big bite of. Pain flared in my wrist and I lowered my sweater-clad arm, trying to shake out whatever flare up I’d triggered. 

“Loud and clear,” he smirked around the bite before wiping his mouth with a brown napkin. “You alright?” He pointed to my hand.

“Fine,” I said dismissively. As soon as he swallowed the bite, the first question on my mind escaped my lips. “What kind of pills are they?”

The man stared at me for a few moments before taking a long sip from his mug. The tension sat heavy upon us as our eyes locked together. He set the mug down carefully and straightened out his napkin, then said, “The pills are a variant of hallucinogens that induce intense feelings of euphoria. They’re crossed with stimulant side effects so they don’t make you drowsy. People—mostly white collar workers—are using them for party drugs at the moment, but they’re getting popular in the streets. They call them Cauldron. C’s for short.”

“Why?”

The smirk returned. “Because you never know what they’ve brewed in that shit.”

I snorted. “And I assume you’ve taken it before?”

Another sip of coffee, and a look of disgust. “Never. I don’t do drugs.”

“You work in the drug industry and don’t do drugs?”

“Some things aren’t as black and white as you’d like them to be, Feyre,” was all he said before taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“And how long has this operation been going on?”

“Three years,” Rhysand said around a mouthful of tuna, and my stomach dropped. Three years? Tamlin’s been keeping this from me all this time?

He must’ve read the expression on my face because he clarified, “Your boy’s only been involved for the past six months. He’s been offered several times before and well…” my eyebrow quirked, and Rhysand shook his head. “Can’t tell you that. Confidential.”

I sighed. “Fine. How much does each shipment cost?”

“The individual pills go for about ten to fifteen dollars apiece, so I’d say a week’s worth of shipments range between…” his eyes flipped back and forth as he did the mental math. “Around fifty and sixty five thousand dollars.”

My jaw dropped. Tamlin was making that much? In one week?

“A percentage of it goes to Tamlin. I don’t know how much, so don’t ask me, but it’s a nice percentage: just enough to tease him and keep him wanting more.”

“More?”

“Hybern wants a contract. Tamlin might think this is short-term, but once you’re in with them…” Rhysand shook his head. “There’s no going back. They will extort and manipulate and black mail to no end. The law bends around them because of Hybern’s guys in Prythian PD. He’s basically untouchable.”

Untouchable. So Tamlin was going to get roped into this, and we were going to have to live the rest of our lives as fucking drug pushers. 

How could he have been so stupid? Why couldn’t he have put his investments into rising stock? Open a new business? Anything _except_ criminal activity?

“The people handling the shipments. Who are they?” My voice was low and patchy. Everything about this was only wearing me down, more weight to add on my shoulders despite the aches that were already there. 

Only Rhysand noticed the dip in my mood instantly. Softly, he said, “After Bron and Hart screwed up the last shipment, it’s been my guy. He’s one of my right hands, and he poses absolutely no harm to you. The one thing Tamlin isn’t lying about is that fact that you are safe here.”

They both kept saying that word: safe. 

But ever since my hands had touched those plastic wrappers, I haven’t felt safe for a second since. I kept looking over my shoulder as I walked down the street. Every time a new customer came in, I had to look them up and down and evaluate: were they a cop? A junkie looking for a fix? Low level pushers looking for some product to steal? 

Everybody seemed to be fine with the drugs except for me. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could handle this. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” I asked quietly. 

Rhysand took the last bite of his sandwich and stared at me as he chewed. Slowly. Once he swallowed, he said, “Because you’ve got nobody else to turn to.”

Tears filled my eyes when he said those words. It was true: I had nobody else. Not even my fiancée or my best friend could answer my questions because they were too damn head strong and stubborn. They thought they were protecting me. 

I understood why. But I also really, really didn’t. 

“Feyre.” 

My gaze snapped back up to take in the concern flickering in Rhysand’s eyes. He licked his lips then said, “You have me. It seems like you’ve got nobody right now, but you have me.” With that, he pulled out a pen and scribbled a phone number on a new napkin, then slid it over the counter to me. 

“If there’s absolutely anything I can do, you call me. No matter the time or day.”

I looked from him to the napkin and back. “Why?”

It took Rhysand a few moments before he said, “Because I see you. I see you, and I see your pain, and I just want to help make it better in any fractional way that I can.”

There were so many things I wanted to say but Rhysand swiftly got to his feet, drained the rest of his coffee then turned on his heel, heading straight for the door. 

“Rhysand?” I called. 

He paused and slowly looked over his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” I said, and it wasn’t sarcastic or bitten out like a witty retort, but true. Sincere. 

“Call me Rhys, darling.” He replied as he adjusted the collar of his suit. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

This time, he'd left a fifty beneath his plate.

+

This week, when the shipments came, I stared at the man handling the units from the entry to the storage room. We exchanged no words beside a heavy, tension-filled gaze as he unloaded the pastries and sandwiches, then loaded the boxes and boxes of 'coffee' silently. He was tall, darker skinned with that same jet black hair. If I wasn’t imagining things, I could’ve sworn he was a copy of Rhys and Cassian, only with his features scrambled: where Rhys’s eyes were wide and bright, this man’s were sharper. More narrow. And his hair was shorter, sticking closer to his scalp, which only further accentuated those high cheekbones. If they were brothers, like Cassian had hinted at, it must’ve been one hell of a gene pool. 

The man had said nothing, and neither had I. Just a normal day. Just a normal shipment. 

Yet all my mind could think of were drugs, drugs, drugs. 

To get everything off my mind, I texted Cassian. 

_I need to see you. Tonight._

Within minutes, he responded. _Feyre, we’ve been over this. You’re engaged. Sex is off the table, no matter how attractive I may be._

I rolled my eyes. _You know what I mean. Are you free?_

_Of course. I’ll see you at seven. You bring the wine, I’ll bring the condoms._

_Asshole._

The minute hand couldn’t move fast enough today. At some point I tried experimenting with the syrups and trying to configure new drinks for the holidays coming up—pumpkin spice season was fizzling out—but everything tasted like hyperglycaemia and cholesterol. Plus, my right wrist was still killing me even after I’d iced it yesterday. 

There was nothing else I could do besides wait. Wait, and let my thoughts send me careening off the deep-end, unable to roll myself back in. Even in the light of day the parasite of darkness wouldn’t go away, and I was stuck, sitting on the stool, trying to blink back tears every few minutes as the waves of emotions continued to crest through me until the day ended. 

I texted Tamlin before my shift was over. _I’m meeting with a university friend for dinner tonight._

His response came seconds later. _Who?_

_You’ve never met them_ , I lied. _It’s just dinner. I’ll be home around eight._

_Fine._

It was one word, and in my mind it sounded like a growl, but at least I got his approval. Once five o’clock came around and I was off my shift, I went home, shovelled some left-overs into my mouth then set out into the streets and down to Wind avenue. This time of year I needed to bundle myself up. It was going to snow any day soon—but for now, Prythian was stuck in limbo where the rain didn’t freeze to snow but it was cold enough to bite you in the ass. Trees shed their leaves and spread them through the city like an epidemic of wildfire. Every where I walked, those patterns of orange and red and gold were stuck in the nooks and crannies of the sidewalk. Fall used to be my favourite season, but this year it fell short. The lack of daylight was a blessing and a curse—more time for the stars to shine, but more time for the darkness to reign. 

Cassian was already at the reception desk when I entered the building. His mouth was set into a concerned frown. “What’s going on, Feyre?”

In the month or so that we’d grown to know each other, Cassian could read me, better than anybody in my life could for some reason. He was probably the closest person I had to a friend—him, Rhys and Alis (though it was kind of in Alis’s job description to be my friend). I could read him, too. On days where he pushed his body to the limits, when his jokes ran dry and his eyes lacked the light and amusement they usually held, I tried to liven him up in any way that I could. 

But tonight I didn’t want to talk. Tonight, I just wanted to punch and kick until my knuckles bled and my knees buckled. 

“Fight first. Talk later.” With that, I wandered into the changing rooms. 

When I walked out, Cassian was already in the ring, fists raised. I didn’t hesitate before donning the gloves he’d laid out for me and raising my own hands. 

And Cassian didn’t hesitate to throw the first punch. 

+

Another punch. I pivoted on the ball of my right foot, and saw that his left side was open. Instinctively, my left hand prepared for a low hook, but Cassian anticipated the move and went for an uppercut instead. I knocked it out of the way with a simple swipe of my right hand, and winced at the bone to bone impact of his forearm onto my wrist. Even with the thick sweater, I still felt the full brunt of hit and ground my teeth. 

“You alright?”

“Yes,” I spit out, and tried a right switch kick. His leg met his elbow instantly in a flawless block, and he followed up with a jab only to find I’d stepped out of the way. With every movement, though, my wrist throbbed, and I had to close my eyes for a few seconds as a wave of pain rushed over me. 

“Feyre, I’m not fucking around anymore. What’s going on?” He lowered his fists and stepped out of his stance to stand in front of me. Scowling, I pushed his chest with both my gloves fists. 

“Come on,” I egged him on, “stop it. Let’s fight.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, which normally would’ve been a playful gesture, but his features were filled with contempt. “Seriously? You want to fight, Archeron?” Then he grabbed my right wrist. Hard. 

I gasped out a grunt of pain and my left hand instinctively slapped his grip away. “What the hell, Cassian?” He let go and I cradled my wrist in my hand. Wildfire spread through my arm, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from trembling. 

“My office. Now.”

Without another word, he stepped out of the ring and into the employee’s room. Sighing, I stripped off my gloves—careful of the sharp pains shooting up my arm—and followed suit, knowing I was in for a round of even more painful lies. 

The employee’s room was a foldout table and a mini kitchen with a fridge. A hallway continued past the shared area and into an office, where I could hear Cassian rifling through drawers. When I entered the space, I blinked in surprise: it was neat, professional and extremely tedious. By looking at Cassian, most would think he was a slob, but his desk was organized immaculately, right down to the alignment of his pens next to the open folder on his desk. Only he wasn’t in this room. There was a light on in what looked like a closet space just beyond the bookshelves lining the walls, the only light shining through the room besides the moonlight entering through the wide windows. 

It wasn’t a storage space like I’d thought, but an infirmary. There was a singular uplifted patient bed up against the far wall lined with wax paper, and Cassian squatted down as he rifled through the drawers. 

“Sit down,” he ordered. No tenderness, no softness or concern. Concern had left the window as soon as Cassian had taken those gloves off. 

“Cassian, seriously, I’m fine—”

“If you say those words again, I’m firing you as my friend. Now sit down and shut up.”

Sighing, I shuffled over to the bed and hoisted myself up carefully with my left hand. The paper crinkled beneath me, and I stared at my toes as my legs swung back and forth below me. The sleeves still hid the bruises, which had faded to a lighter shade of green-purple. Not as sickening as they were the day before, but still raunchy enough to incite concern. 

“There,” he said, before pushing off the ground and standing before me. He held out his hand and ordered, “wrist.”

I shook my head and clasped my hands between my thighs. I couldn’t meet his eyes, which I knew were staring down at me piercingly, ready to explode any second. 

“Feyre,” he said, “you’re hurt. Please, just let me help you.”

Ever since I was a kid, I’d never relied on anyone else. 

Nesta and Elain, my sisters, both had two wheel bikes while I was still stuck in training wheels. My father told me it was because they were older and were more experienced—but I didn’t care. I wanted to be like them, I wanted to prove that I was just as good as them. So I stole Elain’s bike one day when they weren’t home and tried to pedal by myself. 

I fell so many times that day I was surprised I didn’t break a limb. Scratches lined my body up and down, my mother was horrified when she saw me and told me I’d been irresponsible. Child-like. Nobody helped me as I’d poured the anti-septic on the cotton swabs and dabbed at the sensitive flesh. Nobody patted my head and told me I was going to be okay. No, I bandaged myself up, then got back on Elain’s bike the next day, and the day after that until I could finally ride the damn thing without dying in the process. 

The same pattern followed me throughout my life. I relied on no one, nobody except myself. 

I don’t know what it was about the words that incited the burst of fear. Maybe it was the stress or the pain or the exhaustion, but I began to cry silent tears as I rolled up my sleeve and showed Cassian the bruises. His face fell as he gently examined them. 

“Feyre,” he murmured, as he gently prodded the marks, “you’ve got to tell me what happened.”

“I fell.”

“Bullshit.”

“Cassian, I’m a clumsy person. You’ve told me yourself that I’ve got two left feet.”

There was fire in his eyes when he said, “Fall injuries would’ve caused bruising to your knees, maybe torso. But wrists?” He gently took both my wrists in his hands and held them up. A breath hitched in my throat as I remembered being pressed up against the window pane and feeling like death was standing just above my shoulder. “I’m not an idiot. So stop lying to me.”

Carefully, he released me and I let my arms fall to my lap, not caring that another flare of pain shot through my nerves. Never again would I be able to look Cassian in the eyes. Not now that he knew the truth—well, guessed correctly at the truth. 

“If somebody is hurting you—” he tried once more with thunder in his voice, but I interjected quickly. 

“It’s not going to happen again. It happened once, it was a mistake, and everything’s fine now.” The words were hollow. Empty. Because something in me knew that they were lies. 

Cassian wasn’t appeased, though. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought he was going to break a tooth as he unwrapped the compression brace and slid my wrist into it, then velcroed it shut. I’d probably have to take it off as soon as I got home to not piss off Tamlin further. If he found out I ever told somebody about this… I didn’t even want to imagine his fury. 

“I can call someone,” Cassian said softly, “one of my closest friends is a lawyer. She can get you out of this.”

“Stop,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut at the tears that threatened to fall, “please.”

My voice broke on the word. So pathetic and weak and broken…

“Okay,” Cassian murmured, and as my chest began to shake with sobs, both of his arms wrapped around me and he held me tightly against his chest. “It’s okay.” He kept murmuring it over and over into my ear, but all I could thin was _it’s not, it’s not, it’s not okay_. 

+

He told me to call him if anything ever were to happen to me, and I promised I would, but I’ve been promising a lot of people a lot of things these days that weren’t true. He gave me one last hug in the lobby before releasing me, and I was on my way back to the condo in the cool night. 

Only when I entered the parking garage, Tamlin’s car was already there. He said he was coming home late tonight. I thought I’d have time before I got home to shower. Gods, I was still in my workout clothes. 

My hands were shaking as I rode the elevator up. Terror streaked through me, cold and pulsing within my limbs, and I had to clamp my jaw shut to keep my teeth from chattering. I could probably lie my way out of it. Besides, Tamlin was probably just in is office losing track of time with paper work like he always did. 

The doors opened after punching in the key code. Silence blanketed the apartment eerily, and my footsteps echoed throughout the space. His shoes were at the door, and his coat was in its usual spot on the coat hanger. Quietly, I padded through the penthouse down the hallway into our room. He wasn’t there either. I made the best of it and changed quickly into different clothes—more appropriate for an outing with a friend—then stepped back out after stuffing my workout clothes to the bottom of my hamper along with the wrist brace. 

Light shined through the crevice of his office door. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, then knocked softly. “Tamlin?”

“Come in.” Cold, dismissive. My stomach lurched at the sound, but I opened the door nonetheless and found myself facing him from where he sat behind his dark wooden desk. Bookshelves lined either side of the room, and the windows stood behind Tamlin, looking over the city. A print of Spring Corp tower hung proudly on one wall in black and white. My eyes darted between Tamlin, whose scowl made my knees quake, and the half empty glass clutched in his right hand. 

“How was dinner?” He asked, but there was no sincerity in his voice. 

I swallowed hard. “Fine. What’d you have?”

He licked his lips, then pushed off his desk to stand. “I bought soup again for you. But you had other plans tonight.”

My face fell. “I’m sorry, Tam. It was so last minute, and I didn’t want to blow her off again—”

He laughed, and it was empty, hollow. “Blow her off? No. But you probably blew him, didn’t you?”

Heat spread through my cheeks. “What?” 

“The guy you were with. The gym on Wind Avenue?”

The burning in my chest was like wildfire. “How did you…”

“Sorry, Feyre, but you don’t have friends,” he spat the word like venom, and I flinched. “I knew as soon as you texted me that you were lying to me.”

“So you _followed_ me?” I demanded, incredulous. How could he be so invasive?

“Well, apparently you’ve been doing this a lot for the past two months, so what’s the arrangement? Casual sex? Or are you actually in love with this low-life?” He turned to look out over the city, and beneath his white shirt I could see his muscles tensing. “Every weekend you go to Wind Avenue Gym. You meet with the same man at the reception, then there’s at least an hour that you’re unaccounted for.”

“Are you fucking stalking me?”

Only a bone-harrowing glare.

“Tamlin—”

“ _Answer me_ ,” he snapped and slammed his fist down on the wood. 

It shook something within me, and I quipped back with equal ferocity, “Where is it that _you_ go, eh? You don’t see me prying into your life every second of the day.”

“Because I am out there working my ass off to put food on the table! To pay for this place, to pay for everything! And this is how you repay me? By fucking other guys?”

“I’m not cheating on you!” I shrieked, my hands clutching the emptiness in front of me. “Where the fuck is this coming from?”

Tamlin strode out from behind the desk until we were facing each other, our faces only inches apart. Deathly low, he said, “I know that you meet him. At the gym. What is it, you guys fuck in the locker rooms or something?”

Tears spilled onto my cheeks at the absurdity of the situation. My voice was rough and breaking as I yelled, “I’m not cheating on you, I am working out! It’s just boxing, for fuck’s sake Tamlin, I’m trying to protect myself!” My hands clutched my chest and a sob tore through me. “I’m trying to have some sort of control on the situation that _you’ve_ put me in!” I pointed an accusatory finger at him and his eyes flared with rage. 

“Why not ask me? Why not come to me for help?” His fist pounded at his chest. 

“I did and you said no. You completely shut me down, like you always do.”

“You don’t trust me,” he spat, then continued louder, “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you because you’re a liar and a fucking drug dealer!” The words tore from me.

Like sparks and a match, we ignited. The heat, the rage, the anger simply exploded, until all that remained was my broken, limp body, and his heavy breathing as the adrenaline faded, and time regained its normal rhythm. 

I couldn’t quite remember what’d happened. Either purposefully, or because I’d kept my eyes shut tight the entire time, all I remembered was lying on the floor. 

He slammed me into his desk. Hard. That I knew. I think I hit my head on the floor after his hands let go and I fell limp, but all I knew was that I laid there, still. Un-breathing. Hoping, wishing that maybe this time it was hard enough to kill me. 

“Feyre,” he whispered, and tears streamed down my face. 

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Feyre,” he moaned, like _he_ was the one in pain, like _I_ did this to _him_. 

I breathed, “It’s okay. Just…” My breath rattled in my lungs, and I let out a wheezing cough. “Give me some space.”

"Feyre," he said once more, and his footsteps grew closer. 

"Don't," I sobbed, "please, don't touch me. Go. Just go."

I didn’t remember him leaving. I didn’t remember how he’d stepped over and brushed my hair with the back of his hand despite my protests. All I could do was lie on that floor, close my eyes, and pray that this was some sort of nightmare, and that I’d be waking up any second. 

That night, Tamlin took a piece of me. He’d taken them slowly over the time we were together, so infinitesimally small that I hadn’t noticed until I was left with a withered version of my self, the version of myself that let herself be used like a brute’s rag doll. 

Today, Tamlin took a piece of me. One that I’d never, ever get back again.

\+ 

The next morning, Tamlin got on a plane. There was a business meeting he had to attend on the west coast. I tried to convince myself that the tears in his eyes as he whispered another apology to me were genuine, that he truly felt sorry for what’d he’d done, but I knew better. 

Yet still, despite the fact that I knew better, I couldn’t leave him. 

Because as I stood there in the back of the storage room, trying to stifle my sobs and wipe away the tears on my face, I realized that I had no where else to go. I didn’t have money. I didn’t have friends. My family had all but disowned me after I left. 

I had nothing to my name and no one to rely on. The thought settled within me like a heavy stone. 

The bell to the shop rang, and I tried to wipe my face, to make myself look as presentable as I could. I smiled at the two men who approached the counter and asked, “Hi, what can I get you today?”

“Shut the fuck up,” said the first man, voice like gravel, “and bring us the drugs.”

My heart stopped. I looked at the man, who was of average height and brown, greasy hair. His eyes, though, were blue like crystal waters. The one beside him couldn’t have been older than me—and he probably looked just as terrified. 

Shakingly, I replied, “I—I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

The man reached into his back pocket and the next thing I knew there was cold metal pressed against my forehead. “Go get the C’s,” the man threatened, “or I start shooting.”

The bullet clicked into the chamber, and I stopped breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update :) as soon as possible :) the cliffhanger was just too tempting :)  
> Happy holidays! Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	7. I Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee shop shoot-out ensues.  
> Song of the chapter: I Found by Amber Rub  
> Link: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6V_a1-EUA
> 
> TW: Violence, nothing too graphic.

_**Chapter 6: I Found** _

Ever so slowly, I raised my hands above my head. The gun was pressed to my skull, but I couldn’t panic. Not now. I just needed to get them out of the shop.

“Now,” the older man ordered. “Hurry up.”

“I’ll get them. Just…” I looked through the windows to the streets beyond. If I wanted to keep this operation a secret, if I was to keep the police out of this, I had to make us as invisible as possible. “They’re in the storage room. I’ll do whatever you want, just let me close the shop, then we’ll go to the back.”

“Just do it,” the older man growled. The younger one looked probably just as terrified as I felt and clutched the gun between his fingers. Slowly, I extracted myself from the reach of the gun’s barrel and strode over to the shop’s entrance. The lock clicked into place with a snap.

My heart pounded in my chest as the barrels of the guns came back into view. I couldn’t let the fear win. Not now.

Sweat rolled down my back, and my hands shook as I slowly stepped towards the storage room. Against better judgement, I shakily whispered, “They picked up the shipment yesterday. You won’t find anything in the back.”

The older man stepped forward and in a dazed flash, the butt of the gun came whipping across my forehead. A yell tore from my throat as I sagged against the wall, wincing against the throbbing pain in my mind.

“Shut up, you little bitch.” With that, I felt his calloused fingers clench around my arm as he dragged past the door to the storage room. The younger man’s eyes trailed on me, and there was pity there—I knew that stare. I’d seen it many, many times before. We entered the dark storage room, and the door slammed shut behind us with a thud. Left in utter blackness, my palm shot out and found the light switch. The bulb flickered overhead.

The world tilted around me. Everything spun overtop of itself. The inside of my head was filled with cotton balls, and I had to blink hard to keep focus on the man’s words.

“Where are they?” He barked. His hand came down once more, this time landing a crushing punch to my stomach. I screamed through my teeth as his fist met the already bruised flesh beneath, then staggered to the shelf of coffee.

There was no shipment. This I knew, because I saw the man haul it out yesterday afternoon. I knew if we were to open every single one of these sachets, the only drug we’d find is caffeine. But I also knew that this man wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He’d just take my life instead.

“They don’t tell me,” my voice was haggard as I tried to breathe against the fire burning in my ribs and chest, “they’re here in these boxes somewhere.”

I pointed to the shelf that was packed from bottom to top with boxes of Mother Parker’s coffee. The older man looked it up and down, then to me and the younger man standing behind me.

“Well what the fuck are you waiting for?”

With that, I got straight to work, pulling boxes apart and tearing sachets open. With each one, all that poured out was light roast coffee. But the older man wasn’t appeased.

“I don’t give a shit if you have to open every single pouch. Find—”

A loud crash echoed throughout the shop. My head whipped to the storage room door, but the older man shoved me to the ground. The sound of my knees hitting the stone ground echoed throughout the room as he muttered, “Don’t you say a word,” then opened the door to investigate the shop.

As soon as he left, I looked to the younger man. His eyes snapped to mine, but he wasn’t fast enough. I was on my feet instantly, and Cassian’s words rang through my mind.

 _Your elbow is your best weapon. If you can use it, do it_. With that, I cocked my elbow back and swung it into the young man’s nose. He was on the ground before he could even react.

I didn’t bother escaping. I went straight to my messenger bag and pulled out my phone, then rifled through the crumpled receipts and wrappers until my fingers found the brown, wrinkled napkin. I’d never dialled a phone number so fast, and prayed that he’d answer.

That purring, low tenor drawled, “Night Industries.”

“Rhys,” I wheezed, finally breaking that I heard a familiar voice.

There was a rustling noise in the background, and his words were a blend of pure concentration and desperation. “Where are you?”

“The shop. There’re two—”

The door burst open again, and I scrambled back, the phone dropping from my hand. The older man’s eyes dropped to where the phone lay on the floor, then let out a haggard yell as he stomped his way towards me, his hand raised and ready to strike me again. This time I raised my hands and cried out as the metal made contact and broke skin.

He looked back to the phone, raised his foot and stomped on it. The glass shattered, just like the hope that died within me. Because I knew that there was only one way this was going to go: they weren’t going to find the drugs, then they were going to kill me and leave no witnesses.

Only the man barked, “Keep looking!”

Without hesitation I launched myself back to the shelf and continued to disembowel the pile of boxes. Meanwhile behind me, I could hear the two men struggling as the younger one came to.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I left you alone for one second.”

“You’re the idiot,” replied a smooth voice as the younger one spoke for the first time, “there’s clearly nothing here. Your guys were wrong.”

“They’re not wrong. She’s just stalling.”

“Are you fucking listening to yourself?”

The words blurred out after a while, as did my eyesight when the tears spilled over. I tried to wipe them off my cheeks, only my hands came back stained red. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t crying—I was just bleeding out.

And I didn’t know what was worse.

“That’s it. I’m ending this.” The older man called and charged towards me. I didn’t scream or fight as he grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt and dragged me to my feet before slamming me against the wall. The barrel of the gun was pressed to my forehead once again, and the breath rushed out me.

This was it. This was really it.

“James, stop, she’s just a girl,” the younger one insisted desperately. My eyes opened to slits to see him standing behind James, a look of anguish on his face.

“Shut up, Isaac!” James bellowed, shoving the metal deeper into my skin. “You wanted to be part of this? Now’s your time to prove it.”

The pressure on my head eased and Isaac stepped forward, then raised his gun. It was shaky before me as he held it his hand straight out. His brown, hazel eyes met mine, and they were filled with terror. Terror and torture as he thought of what he was about to do. Blood stained his nose from where I’d elbowed him, already turning purple with a bruise.

That’s when I realized that I wasn’t scared anymore. The fear had left long, long ago.

Yet still, Isaac’s hand shook in front of me. Behind Isaac, James kept goading him to no end.

“Pull the trigger. Just do it. One second, then it’s done.”

His heavy breaths were all you could hear in the dank, cramped storage room. I locked eyes with Isaac. There was fear in his eyes.

But not in mine.

_Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed._

It was the basic law of survival.

I raised my foot and kicked him hard in the stomach, then lifted my fist and brought it down upon the gun. It dropped to the floor with a clatter and I dove as James drew his own weapon and fired. The bullet hit the wall with an explosion of tile that ricocheted across the floor, and I felt shards embed themselves into my skin. Time seemed to slow as more shots rang out, but I felt no pain in my body.

“Get her!” James bellowed. There was scuffling behind me, and I thought it was the two of them fighting—I couldn’t see past the pulsing in my head. I crawled on the floor as quickly as I could and found myself in the corner of the room closest to the door, hidden behind the wall of coffee. My palms were slick with sweat as they closed around the gun’s metal handle.

Squeezed tightly in both hands, I coiled into the corner and raised the weapon then spun back to face my attackers.

_Kill or be killed._

I stared at Isaac, whose face was still filled with that pure, unadulterated terror. I stared into those greens eyes, and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice.

Then shifted the gun to the left and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice.

Blood sprayed across my face, and all I was left with was the rattling breaths of the dying men and the warmth slowly leeching from my body and soul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Posted this as soon as I got it finalized. I'll try to get another chapter up in the next few days!  
> As always, your comments really make my day. Any feedback, criticism or suggestion is taken to heart and mean everything :) Knowing people like the story only further encourages me to write, and the support on this story is exceptional, so I thank you all <3  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	8. Mr. Rattlebone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok this chapter is short and bad and I re-wrote it four times and I hate every single version that I wrote. This is the least bad one.  
> Song of the chapter: Mr. Rattlebone by Matt Maeson  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvrDAMx8ri0
> 
> TW: Blood and trauma.

_**Chapter 7: Mr. Rattlebone** _

The gun was clutched between my fingers. I couldn’t let it go.

Kneeling in the pool of blood, I clutched the bringer of death as though it were life itself. Blood soaked the clothes on my body, the skin of my face, my shaking hands. It was everywhere. All I kept wondering about was, _What are they going to do with the bodies?_ These people must have had families. Drug pushers or not, there were people out there who cared about them, who loved them, yet I was here, lying in their blood. 

And Tamlin was across the country on a business meeting. 

There was a crash from outside, and I didn’t flinch as the storage room’s garage door opened. Footsteps ran to my side, and Rhys dropped on his knees before me. 

“Feyre,” he pleaded, his eyes searching mine. But I couldn’t look at him. I was only focused on the blood surrounding me, the bodies before me. There was room for nothing else. 

“Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts?” He demanded. 

“Everywhere,” I choked out. The gun rattled in my hands as I began to shake. “He, um, he hit my head and my arms, and at some point I think he punched me in the chest—”

Rhys’s fingers were gentle as he pushed back the strands of hair covering my face then prodded the wound on my forehead. I winced, and he shook his head. 

“I have to call the police.”

“Rhys, you can’t—” Panic exploded in my chest. I couldn’t get arrested. No, I wouldn’t, not when I was put here in the first place by _other people—_

“You’re too hurt. There’s too much of a mess to clean up to keep it under the radar.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” I pleaded, eyes wide, voice trembling, then reached up to grip the lapels of his jacket. “I can’t be a criminal. I can’t, I can’t—” I burst into sobs, and he sighed, then pulled me into his arms. 

He didn’t care that I was soaked in blood. Blood of the two people I’d just murdered, laying no more than a few feet away from us. Rhys held me as I swore and cursed the Gods for everything that’d happened to lead me where I was today, in the back of a coffee shop, with the blood of two people on my hands. 

“It was self-defence, darling,” he murmured into my ear, “they were going to kill you, and they would’ve thought nothing about it. You’d be dead if you hadn’t. No one in their right minds would even try to make an arrest.”

“Please,” I choked out, “please. Don’t call them.”

He pulled away so that we both faced each other. There was pain, so much pain in those star-speckled eyes. Rhys only nodded his head once. “I’ll get someone to clean this.”

“Thank you,” I sighed, and he only brushed the side of my arm in response before scooping me into his arms and bringing me out the back door where his car waited.

At some point the car began to drive, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t say or think or feel much at all besides the second skin enveloping me. Copper and iron stench stuck to me, and my mouth was filled with the acrid taste. All around me, buildings upon buildings passed by, only barely visible with the thick fog coming off the Sidra, and Rhys was saying so many words that didn’t make sense to me. At some point I’m pretty sure he was screaming into a phone, but even that sounded like a foreign dialect. Then there was the sound of somebody saying to me through a stereo. 

“Feyre,” the person said, and I finally closed my eyes as Tamlin’s voice filled the car. “Feyre, talk to me.”

“We, um,” the words were garbled and choked in my throat, “we need to order more coffee. I destroyed most of it trying to find the shipment.”

“Feyre, I need you to calm down. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I think we’re also out of brown sugar. You know the uh,” I cleared my throat and my fingers clutched the edge of the seat, trying to get a grasp on anything I could, “the brown ethical sugar that no one ever takes? We finally ran out of that. Yeah, um, we need more.”

“Feyre.” Only it sounded like a disappointment. Fitting. 

Rhys looked to me sidelong in the car, and the stars in his eyes seemed dim today. Then the phone was pressed back against his ear. He uttered under his breath, “She’s in shock, you inconsiderate fuck.”

The world kept moving so fast outside of the car, and I decided to focus on that for now instead of the screaming inside of my head. Because I was screaming, screaming bloody terror. 

At some point, though, the car went quiet, and all that was left was the sound of the tires against the road. Even our breaths seemed quiet in the small space we shared, like we were scared to disrupt the bubble of peace we’d finally found in the midst of the chaos. 

Rhys looked at me, though. I could feel his stare piercing through me every few seconds. It was enough that at some point I turned my head fractionally to stare back. That’s when he finally said, “What can I do?”

What could he do? How could he make this any better? At this point, all efforts felt like slapping bandaids on bullet wounds. 

So I only reached out towards him, and he took my hand in his. The warmth enveloping my fingers made the feeling of the blood recede. 

+

Rhysand stepped out of the car after pulling into the driveway of a townhouse. It reminded me of those New York Brownstones, and I kept wondering where he was taking me. I closed my eyes and sat back in my seat, wishing that everything else would finally fade away around me. For a few seconds, it seemed like I would finally get some peace. Isaac’s panicked eyes flashed into my mind, along with the deafening sound of the gun shots, and the air left my lungs. 

Only the door opened beside me, and I was thrust back into reality once more. Rhys said gently, “Let’s go, Feyre.”

“Where…” I trailed off, unmoving despite his beckoning gestures, “why aren’t you taking me home?”

Rhys looked me up and down and sighed. “I can’t risk bringing you home. If whoever’s after Tamlin has tracked you to the coffee shop, they’ll probably know where you live, too. Right now this is the safest spot.”

“Where are we?”

Rhys swallowed hard. “My personal residence. It’s only until Tamlin gets back.”

I nodded my head, and Rhys reached around me to unbuckle my seatbelt, then gently slipped his arm around my waist to help me step out of the car. The street was deathly quiet and covered by the thick, heavy fog emanating from the river. A perfect set-up for the opening scene or a murder mystery movie. 

Only the murders had already been committed.

The townhouse was quiet. Dark. Rhys flicked on a few lights and warned me to touch nothing. If we were to not call the police, then I had to be very careful of everything I touched. Though touching Rhysand wasn’t a problem. When I asked him, all he said was, “If you’re going down, then I may as well go down with you.”

He carefully carried me up the stairs, because apparently the blood had soaked my shoes as well. I was deposited in the washroom, instructed to wash myself off as best as I could and that he’d bleach everything as soon as I was done. 

When the door shut behind me, something within me broke. Until then, I’d tried to hold it together. I’d tried to make it seem like this was _alright_ , this was _fine_ , that this was just another _day_ _in the fucking life_ , but when he left, I became undone. 

There’s something so…feral, about falling apart. About losing yourself. The moment when you feel like the part of you that’s _you_ becomes a ghost, and that you’re only the monster left after life’s parasitic fangs drained you of all that’s humane. 

Everything within me collapsed. And I was nothing but madness and mania trying to scrub away the stains of the person I’d left behind in that storage room. 

+

A knock echoed through the room. I crouched over the sink, scrubbing furiously at the skin beneath my nails. 

“Feyre? Can I come in?” Reluctance tinted the words, as though he didn’t want to disturb me. 

I croaked, “Yes. But I’m not done yet.”

The door opened with a click behind me anyways. I’d managed to scrape off most of everything on my torso and legs and arms, but all that was left were my hands. Even my hair had been soaked with the stuff—I had to draw three baths before the water stopped turning pink. 

“There was just so much of it, it got all over my hands. It won’t come out.”

My eyes lifted to the mirror to see Rhysand standing behind me, his expression grim. His eyes trailed down to where my hands worked furiously in the sink splashing water onto the pruned skin. 

“Feyre,” he murmured softly.

“What?” I snapped. 

That’s when he took two quick steps forward, then gently placed both hands on mine beneath the stream of running water. 

“No, you can’t, you’ll get contaminated—” 

“Your hands are clean.”

The water in the sink turned off as I sobbed silently. 

“Your hands are clean.”

Devastation bloomed in Rhys’s eyes when I turned around, fresh tears streaming down my face. “I don’t believe you.”

He blinked, his eyes searching my face, before kneeling down and retrieving a wash basin from his vanity cupboard, along with a clean sponge, a towel and more soap. The sound of the bath water running echoed throughout the silent house. 

“Sit,” he murmured and patted the lid of the tub. Absentmindedly, I perched on the ledge of the stand-alone bath, watching the basin fill with a lathery foam as it sat in the tub beneath the flowing water. When it was half-way full, Rhys turned the water off, laid the towel across his lap and beckoned for me. 

I placed my hand in his. Carefully, he dipped the sponge into the foamy lather, then glided it across the palm of my hand. 

The knot in my chest loosened as he worked the sponge across each individual finger. Every knuckle, joint and crevice was scrubbed with a gentle pressure that had my eyes drooping. Finally I could feel the essence of it, the trace of the stains, ebbing away. He repeated the motions with my left. His touch was feather light, soothing, appeasing. Neither of us said a word, even when Rhys poured out the water of the basin, which was just as clear as when he’d started. 

The two of us were left perched on the lid of the bath tub. My eyes trained on the white floor tile. Pink water remained on its surface, and I wondered if it was my blood, or James’ or Isaac’s. 

“None of this is your fault. You know that, right?”

The words echoed through my mind. They were the promise of something good, something hopeful. 

I was afraid that I wasn’t capable of such feelings anymore. 

“This isn’t your world. You would’ve never been in this situation in the first place. Even though you are, what you did in there, you did it to survive. In the given circumstances—ones you had no choice in—you did what you had to to stay alive. And that is not your fault, no matter what anyone says.”

Choice. I’d chosen to be with Tamlin. I’d chosen to take his hand in marriage. I’d chosen to trust him, to believe that I was safe. 

I chose to love Tamlin. To protect him. To stay with him, despite the fact that I could’ve walked away at any moment. And this is what that protection—what that _love_ —cost me. 

“I pulled the trigger,” I said hollowly. “I could’ve aimed at their limbs instead of their chests. I could’ve called the police instead of you. I could’ve ran or lied my way out of it—”

“Feyre—” Rhys protested, his eyes wide with objection. 

“I pulled the trigger.” I repeated, pushing away from the tub. “That’s the choice I made, Rhysand. That’s who I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was short but it's just so I can focus on the next chapter (which will be better, I swear). The action's only rising from here on out, folks.  
> Once again, your support on the last few chapters has been incredible. I couldn't ask for better readers :) I will probably be updating some time before New Year's hopefully if my writer's block doesn't shred me apart.  
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	9. 5AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath part two. Some small-but important shit-goes down.
> 
> Song of the chapter: 5AM by Amber Run (if you're re-reading this, yes I changed it, it used to be dancing after death by matt maeson but I was reading it over and liked this song better!)  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qge9mS3umFk

_** Chapter 8: Dancing After Death ** _

I was paralyzed. 

As I laid in Rhys’s guest room bed beneath the light of the rising sun, I realized that I was paralyzed in my own mind. 

I didn’t know how it happened. I didn’t know how I lost control—but suddenly, the onslaught of memories and emotions rose like a cresting wave, and I was bound to the shoreline as they crashed down upon me over and over again, mercilessly, drowning me until the very breath ripped from my lungs. Every pulse or movement or mental process lead me right back to those moments in the coffee shop. Whether I was in the front with the barrel of a gun pressed to my forehead, or clutching that very gun as two bodies slumped before me, the only thing I could think, feel, hear and taste was murderer, murderer, murderer. 

And when that wasn’t enough, I was brought back to the incident. To mangled metal, shattered glass and heat waves rising from the ground as fresh blood met the winter snow. Brought back to moments alone in the stand-alone bath tub we used to have at the penthouse with a blade pinched between my fingertips. 

I had to wring my hands in my lap to try and control myself. 

At some point it was too much, being in that room by myself, alone with the hurricane in my mind. And instead of giving into the instincts that screamed at me, I went for a compromise. 

Floorboards creaked beneath my feet. Tiptoeing, I held my breath as I crossed the hallway from the guest bedroom to the bathroom where I’d been only hours ago trying to scrub away two strangers’ blood. It still smelled of the bleach that Rhys had doused over everything before going to bed. 

Cold enveloped me as I sank into the ceramic tub. It was large, big enough for two people, and comfortable enough that I could extend my legs in front of me without bending them. Rhys’s shirt billowed out around me.

What was I doing here? How did I end up here?

Questions that reverberated through me. Unanswered they remained as I curled further into myself in a failed attempt to escape the cold ceramic. The pain in my chest was sharp and aching, but I ignored it.

More importantly, though, was how do I get out?

I was stuck in a spiral, I realized. Wide enough at first that I didn't realize I was falling, spinning and bending into the depths of my broken being in a tightly coiled spiral, all the way down. No way out. Forever trapped in this cycle until the end. 

The thought terrified me. I had no way out. _I was trapped._

A creaking sound rippled through the small space, and my head whipped to the door to find a groggy Rhysand looking back at me confused. There were bags beneath his eyes. I hadn't noticed until he stepped into the dim light where his sleeplessness shined through. Loose sleeping clothes curtained him, sweatpants and a t-shirt similar to the one I wore. 

He took a few steps towards the bathtub and perched on the side of it, taking in my curled position. “Can’t sleep?”

I shook my head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shrugged my shoulders. 

Rhys looked me up and down where I laid hunched in the tub, then swung his legs carefully over the curled lip of the ceramic to settled down in front of me. We both adjusted so our legs ran parallel to each other, and his were so long he had to keep them bent so they would fit in the cramped space.

“You’re warm,” I murmured, nestling my head between my shoulder and the ceramic. 

“You’re cold,” he replied, then hesitantly laid his arm on my legs so that it covered my ankles and calves. My eyes closed at the heat he radiated. 

Hot, like the blood that’d coated me a few mere hours ago. My eyes snapped back open to see Rhys watching me intently, his expression calm and neutral in the wee hours of the morning. 

“Night Industries works in security, right?” I wondered aloud. I didn’t know why I asked it, but I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. To let him talk, to let me forget. 

Rhys swallowed before answering. “Yes and no. It’s one of the many facets of the industry, one that we’re very focused in right now—but I started off in real estate, like your fiancee.”

“That’s why you own half of Prythian.”

A wry smile. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“You only do security detail? Like there’s a line-up of jacked mysterious men and women at your disposal?”

At that Rhys let out a soft chuckle. “Security detail, cyber security, infrastructure security, all of it. Though we don’t like to think of it as a line-up. It’s more of a reservoir.”

I shot him a pointed look. He only wore his usual cunning smirk, but with each passing second both or our expressions dropped until we mirrored the same empty, hollow gaze. 

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

Darkness like I’d never seen before flickered in Rhysand’s eyes. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Unease twisted in my gut. 

The male released a sigh and sank deeper into the ceramic. An invisible weight made his shoulders sag. “I used to be a police officer. Before I took over my father’s business, before I got into business, I was a cop. Trained at the academy for a year, was on duty for two years.” He paused briefly, as to collect his thoughts, then said, “One night, we got a call. Hostage situation. A man had kidnapped his niece and had her for over a week in an ongoing investigation. It was outside of the head detective’s precinct so they called us in to try and manage the situation before the others arrived. After an hour of trying to negotiate, I could tell things were about to go bad. And all I could hear was that little girl’s voice, pleading for someone to help her.

“I went in and the house was a mess. Bloodstains on the walls. Rotten food in the kitchen. The hole place reeked. We knew he’d been abusing her in more ways than one.” Rhys swallowed hard. “When we went down to the basement, the guy had a gun to the girl’s head. It was all I could focus on, and in the heat of the moment, I didn’t think. I just shot.”

That’s when his eyes finally held mine, and he admitted quietly, “He was using her as a shield. I didn’t see because I was panicked and all I saw was the gun against her head. But I shot her by accident. Then I shot him. As soon as the case was closed I gave in my resignation.”

Tears streamed down my face. Over and over again, like a song I couldn’t shake out of my head, the sound of the gunfire went off. 

“How do you move on? When will the pain finally stop?”

Rhys’s expression bled empathy. “I wish I could tell you that it goes away. I wish I could tell you that I let my experiences be my strength and not my downfall.” He released a defeated breath. “But there isn’t a day that goes by that her scared face doesn’t enter my mind. At first I thought it would kill me, but now it’s faint. Like the smooth edge of a scar.”

Scars. I knew a lot about those. They lined my thighs up and down, evidence that years had passed, and I had not forgotten. Not forgotten that cursed night when I’d killed another woman, again at the hands of my blessed shortcomings. 

Though I’d tried to erase them, I’d tried to get ride of them, the truth is that my scars still burned bright when revealed. They made others gawk and stare and mutter to themselves, and only further buried me into the slow grave I was digging. 

“Feyre?” Rhysand murmured. 

I looked up to him from where I’d been staring at my thighs, covered by the thin material of his t-shirt. It smelled faintly of citrus and jasmine. Before I knew it, a calm settled over my body, and my cheek rested against the cold ceramic as sleep washed over me slowly, then all at once. 

+

Creaky footsteps sounded throughout the room as someone tried to carefully tiptoe from the door into bed. The light flowing through the room alerted me that it was early morning. I didn’t know how I’d gotten from the tub and back to the guest room, but I assumed it was thanks to the dark-haired man sleeping in the room across the hall. Yet why has he come to wake me in the wee hours of the morning? 

Then something strange happened. A weight made the mattress dip next to me, and someone slid into the sheets. I bristled when skin brushed against my legs, and beside me there was a sharp intake of breath. 

“What the—” a masculine voice swore lowly. 

No time was wasted as I damn near jumped from the bed. When I looked down, there was man—that wasn’t Rhys—wearing the same shocked and disturbed expression that I was. 

Except that the face wasn’t unfamiliar. I could spot the long, tousled hair and sharp jawline anywhere. My jaw dropped as I whispered, “Cassian?”

“Feyre?” Came the equally surprised response. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“Um, sleeping. In _my_ bed. You—” he shook his head. “How did you get in here?”

More footsteps thundered down the hallway, gaining closer to us, and a tired, groggy voice called panicked, “Feyre?”

Then Rhys tore open the door, wearing nothing else besides sleeping shorts, his head whipping back and forth between Cassian and I. I guess the pyjamas he’d adorned hours ago were more for my sake than for his normal sleeping comforts.

“How did you get into my house?” Rhysand demanded as he took in Cassian, still curled up in the bed. 

“How did _she_ get into your house?” Cassian retorted incredulously. “I am _not_ the stranger here. This is my bed.”

“Oh bullshit Cass, how many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t your room?”

“Well it certainly isn’t Feyre's either!” Cassian looked from Rhys to me. I stood there, lips pursed tightly, thanking the Gods that Rhys’s t-shirt was long enough to cover my thighs. “How do you two know each other?”

Rhys and I held each other’s gazes, waiting for the other to explain the complicated relationship between us. Finally, Rhys sighed and said to Cassian, “She’s Tamlin’s fiancee.” Then he looked at me and wondered, “You called him finally?”

“We box together,” Cassian explained, then grinned. “So that’s how you got my number. Didn’t want to associate yourself with my brother, did you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut it.”

More moments of silence passed between the three of us as we looked to one another in the small space. My headache grew with each pulsing second, and Cassian only goaded, “Well? I get that you work with her fiancee Rhys, but pray tell why the pretty lady is in my bed?”

I narrowed my eyes at Cassian and Rhys only replied, “First of all, it’s not your bed. And second of all,” the male sighed and looked to me before saying, “I was going to call you first thing in the morning. There was an incident last night. At the coffee shop.”

Cassian’s brows shot up and he demanded, “Why wasn’t I called _immediately_?”

“Because I had to call Azriel. It wasn’t your kind of mess to clean.” Rhys pursed his lips. “Two men threatened her by gun point trying to find the shipment.”

“So you took care of them?”

“No.”

Cassian was about to ask who, and I could tell, because he looked to me then went silent. He had his answer. 

“Oh, Feyre,” Cassian murmured, full of heartbreak. I blinked back the tears threatening to pour over as the brunt of what’d happened yesterday hit me once more. 

“I need you to take her to your private clinic. We have to keep this as secret as possible.” 

Cassian looked to the bandage on my forehead that Rhys had carefully placed on top of the cut. “You mean she hasn’t been to a hospital yet?”

“Can you please stop talking like I’m not standing right here.” I interjected quietly. “I didn’t want to go last night, Cassian. I will go with you later and we will figure all this out,” I pointed to the window, “when it isn’t five thirty in the fucking morning.”

Rhys looked to the window, then to Cassian. “Why are you only getting home at five thirty in the morning?”

The brute only shrugged his shoulders. “Went out drinking with Mor.”

“Until five thirty?”

“No, until two. Then I stayed up watching TV and eating your cereal. We need more cereal, by the way.”

Rhys turned with a disapproving grunt to head back to his room, and I had to look away from his backside which was scandalously highlighted by his tight sleeping shorts. He growled over his shoulder, “I want my key back,” before slamming the door to the master bedroom.

Heaving a sigh, I looked back to the male who still lounged in my bed. “Well?”

“Well what?” Cassian bit back. 

“Out.” I pointed to the door. 

“This is my bed!” 

“ _Out_!” I repeated before climbing back under the sheets and curling onto my side. 

Weight shifted beside me and I felt a voice whisper next to me, “You sure you don’t want some snuggles?”

A gurgle of laughter bubbled in my throat, but I pushed it down before taking a pillow and swinging it at him with all my might. He finally retreated and the door closed, leaving me alone with the morning light and the sound of my quiet breaths. 

Alone with the deafening stream of babbling thoughts. Blood and pills and eyes and guns. They traipsed around each other, allowing the fear they incited to creep down my spine and nestle into my bones. I tried to spool that fear back in, master it, and shove it down where it couldn’t be reached, but the fear was always stronger. 

+

Cassian, Rhysand and I ventured back into town to a private clinic Cassian and Rhys relied on when treating injuries received in more…illegal situations. Madja was the doctor that day, and she did a full check-up—physical exam, neurological exam and CT scan to confirm there was no damage to my brain. She said that the impact had been harsh enough to cut skin, and I’d have a tiny scar on my forehead thanks to it, but nothing that would seriously harm my health besides short-term headaches. Cassian and Rhys had stayed with me the whole time (due to my notable unease in describing what’d happened the previous night) until Madja had closely examined the bruising on my chest and arms. Apparently, I’d broken a rib. 

I didn’t have the heart in me to guess whether that’d been due to James or Tamlin’s desk. 

She also gave me a splint for my wrist, which I now would have a valuable excuse to wear around the house that Tamlin wouldn’t go ballistic at. Though I’d been roughed up, Madja assured me that everything would heal on its own eventually and I didn’t need surgery for my rib. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods for it. 

When I left her office with the prescription clutched in my hand, Cassian and Rhys were instantly there asking questions one after the other. Once satisfied, we finally made it back to the car, when Rhys informed me that Tamlin was arriving in an hour and that he’d meet Rhys and I at the penthouse. Cassian had to go work some paperwork out at the gym anyways, and I found myself saying goodbye to him on the street out front while Rhys waited in the car. 

“How didn’t you know I was Tamlin’s fiancee if you’re working on this with him?” I asked Cassian, who stood before me with a scowl and his arms crossed. Ever since we’d left Madja’s office, something seemed off about him. 

He answered, “Rhys gave me very little details, and at the time you weren’t much of a security risk. Not until now, anyways.”

An awkward pause extended between us, so I tried filling it with, “If you own the gym then why are you working with Rhys and Night Industries?”

“Side job,” he quipped with a shrug. 

I dropped my voice and asked lowly, “What’s wrong, Cassian?”

The wind muted our conversation to passersby, and I was grateful as he blew out a sigh and said, “I saw the footage, Feyre. Of everything that happened in the shop. The injuries described to your chest don’t match up.”

My heartbeat climbed into my throat. “What?”

“He punched you in the stomach. Below your chest. No where near your ribs.” He shook his head. “I don’t know whether to come with you and kill the prick myself or to yell at you for putting up with this.”

I swallowed hard and looked away from Cassian’s piercing stare. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Cassian.”

“Yes I do. And I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch him do this to you.”

“ _Hey_ ,” I asserted, all bite and fury, “this is my life. These are my choices. And these are my secrets. Mind your own fucking business.”

He raised his hands in defeat, then slowly walked away without another word. My face burned in shame as I got back into Rhys’s car and slammed the door, hard. 

+

When we arrived to the penthouse, Tamlin was already there, hunched over the couch with his back to us. I swallowed hard at the sight, knowing full well by the tension in his muscles that he was furious. At the sound of the elevator doors opening, he spun around, and true relief lined his features when he saw me. I wanted to run to him, let him hold me—I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me it was going to be alright. But as soon as he saw that I was okay, that I was in no immediate danger, he turned to Rhys with the promise of death in his eyes. 

“This was your mistake, Noctis,” Tamlin spat with an accusatory finger pointed in Rhys’s direction. The dark haired man only slid his hands into his pockets and raised his brows, as though he were mildly amused at the bold claim Tamlin made. 

“I didn’t hire those two men to attack your fiancee if that’s what you’re asking,” Rhys said nonchalantly. “And I intervened as soon as I was alerted to the situation.”

“There shouldn’t have been a situation in the first place,” Tamlin spat. “You’re fired.”

Rhys scoffed and stepped closer to my fiancee. “You’re not the one who hired me, Tamlin. I’d check with Hybern before you make such claims.”

“I just got off the phone with him, and he agrees that this was the last straw. Effective immediately your contract is broken. The fees for the early termination of the contract are being transferred to you as we speak.”

Rhys looked from Tamlin to me, and though his expression never slipped up, I could see it in his shoulders—there was fear there, in the way he stood too-still. “Who’s going to handle the shipments, then? Your two dimwits who fucked it up last time?”

Tamlin shook his head in disgust. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

Rhysand laughed, a full, mocking laugh, and turned on his heel. “Take care of yourself, Tamlin. And Feyre, darling,” he paused and looked over his shoulder to hold my gaze, "Fight it."

Without another word, the dark-haired male stepped into the elevator, and stepped out of our lives. 

Which left me alone with Tamlin, who only looked me up and down, then wrapped me in his arms. I winced at the pressure on my chest, but let him hold me nonetheless. 

“I’ll protect you,” he swore lowly in my ear, “I promise, Feyre, I’ll protect you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy new year! I wish you the best in 2020 and hope everyone had a safe night of celebrating.  
> Sorry if the writing was awkward in this one, I had to get a lot of dialogue out of the way to set up some plot for the next few chapters. The last two chapters have been painful to write, but now we're really getting into the nitty gritty of this story, and I hope you'll still stick around with me for it.  
> Question for y'all: have you been listening to the songs that I associated with the chapters? I'd like to know some thoughts/opinions about the songs because they're some of my favourites (I'm a big fan of sad music) and wonder if you enjoy them as well. If you have any song suggestions, drop them in the comments below!  
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	10. Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-wedding jitters. Little bit of a time jump.  
> Song of the chapter: Me by the 1975  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hu0xlyLwK7Q
> 
> TW: Mentions of suicide, blood and gore.

_** Chapter 9: Me ** _

“Please,” moaned the young man on his knees, “you can’t. Please.”

The metal rattled between my fingers. Sweat coated my palms, and I had to force a breath out through my mouth. To my ears, it sounded like a sob. 

“Shut up you little shit,” barked the older man beside him. Both of their hands were bound. Beads of sweat poured down Isaac’s face, yet James was indifferent beside him. It was as though the older man could see right through me. “She won’t do it.”

Nonetheless, Isaac continued to murmur, “Please, please, please.”

Each uttering of the word pierced my heart. It only added to the blood already covering my chest. The storage room walls were closing in on me, and the smell of coffee grounds and blood met my nose, only adding to the pungent smell of death that lingered just around the corner. 

“What are you waiting for, then?” James yelled. An animalistic, unearthly madness danced in those brown irises. 

_Butcher. Killer. Murderer of innocents._

_Please._

Suddenly, James’s hands came unbound, and there was a gun staring me right in the face. I didn’t hesitate this time as I raised my hands and fire twice. James slumped over.

I shifted my grip to Isaac, who only let out a moaning scream as I fired twice more, right through his forehead. Isaac slumped face-first into the pool of James’s blood that was already collecting densely between the two of them. They were bleeding. Profusely. 

“Help!” I shouted as I dove to my knees, applying pressure over James’s wound. I knew in my heart he was already dead, but I had to try something. “Help!” I screamed louder, but I knew nobody could hear me. 

Blood began to fill the storage room. Hot, repulsive and noxious, it covered both men’s bodies and continued rising until it was up to my hips. I couldn’t move, lest I be splashed with it all over my torso. 

“ _HELP_!” I pleaded at the top of my lungs.“Please,” I whispered, my voice finally breaking. Only something had grabbed me by the leg: a hand. One, then another. 

I did the only thing I thought of. I reached into the waistband of my pants within the sea of blood and brought the barrel of the gun to my head. 

I didn’t hesitate this time when I pulled the trigger.




Over and over again, I puked what little dinner I’d eaten that night. Tamlin had come home late again, so I only had left-over stew Alis had made yesterday. Each bite had been a struggle, but I’d managed to get a bowl down. All for nothing, though, as most of it found itself in the porcelain toilet. 

I blinked, and three months had gone by. 

It was like reality warped itself. Some days there was a film over my eyes. Some days it was clouds and fog, like dirty glasses.

I spent the first week laying in bed, unable to do anything but eat and sleep and try not to think. My chest had been killing me anyways, and Tamlin had taken time off to take care of me with Alis. There was no mention of what’d happened in the shop. No mention of the people I’d killed or the injuries I’d sustained because of it, only care and affection and attention. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed Tamlin and I being just… Tamlin and I, not fiancees, not CEO and barista. Just us. 

Inevitably, Tamlin had to go back to work. And I was alone in the apartment, once again. I couldn’t go back to work. I just couldn’t. Not yet, anyways.

Fall had quickly receded for winter to hit full force. My birthday had come and gone—with minimal celebration due to the suffocating apathy that’d swallowed me whole—and Christmas seemed like a joke at this point. There were a few office parties here and there I’d forced myself to attend for Tamlin’s sake, but they seemed to pass by in a haze of smoke. Ever since the incident, Tamlin had tried to keep work separate from our lives, as it was before. Yet it still ate away at me that I was no longer informed of the ins and outs of the operations going on under my nose. 

Since Tamlin and Hybern had fired Rhysand, I hadn’t heard a word of the man since, and he was one of my sole informants. I hadn’t heard from either dark-haired men—Cassian had gone radio silent as well. At first, I understood: we’d fought. There were dangerous matters hanging precariously between us (matters that would get me in an utter shit storm if others were to find out) and I was too injured to touch my toes, never mind box together. 

I’d found myself missing them. Too much. Because no matter what had surpassed between us, Rhys and Cassian were there for me when there was no one else. In some ways, I considered them friends. Cassian definitely. 

Rhys…he was a creature of his own, with a force and darkness that constantly awed me. Friend was a loose term, but yes, I guess that’s what I’d call him. Well, not anymore, anyways. 

After what I’d done, it was a relief to still have people in my life that cared. Now that I was a butcherer, no more than slaughterer of innocents…

The feeling of swimming in that pool of blood hit me, and I clutched the porcelain as I heaved once more.

Once the sleeplessness had receded, the nightmares kicked in again. Full force. Most nights I’d find myself racing to the washroom, hands shaking with the phantom blood that dripped from them. The first time it’d happened, Tamlin rushed in and held my hair back, then gently tried to coax me back to sleep. That stopped shortly after the third time. Now I wondered if it even disturbed him in sleep whenever I was stooped over the toilet sick to my stomach. 

I laid there, slumped over against the shower door looking out the window. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, surrounded by the pockets of starlight illuminating the darkness beyond. Something about the image calmed me, and I closed my eyes, curled up on the cold bathroom tile. Rhys had said that the pain would fade eventually, but all I felt everyday was the constant, aching bite of the memories that’d tattooed themselves onto my mind.

In two days, I was to be married, bound to him for _life_. 

How could I live the rest of my life, constantly falling apart? How could Tamlin continually put up with me once he realized that this wasn’t temporary, but events that’d poisoned my soul forevermore?

All the preparations we’d been trying to settle for months were finally coming into fruition, yet I still couldn’t even sleep through the night. Not when I had James and Isaac’s faces haunting me every day. Whenever I stepped out of the apartment, went to the grocery store—the only outings I could withstand, always accompanied by Alis or Lucien—I saw them and stopped dead in my tracks. Only it was just another man with pale skin and brown, sandy hair, and not the men in which my bullets buried themselves in.

No missing persons reports had been filed. No inquiry into their sudden disappearances, no cries of outrage from sorrowed family members. At least, not to my knowledge—Tamlin hadn’t spoken a word of what’d surpassed since it had all gone down. And for the life of me, I couldn’t voice the turmoil within me that I’d been facing since the incident. Not to him anyways. 

Not to anyone. Besides…

As his name came to mind, I heard my phone buzz from back inside our room. Quietly, I closed the door to the bathroom behind me than crept back into bed, pulling my phone along with me. My breath caught in my throat as I read the name on the screen. 

Rhysand. 

I told myself my fingers were shaking from the sickness, not the well of anxiety that’d bubbled within me upon seeing his name. I opened the message and held my breath. 

_We need to talk. 11 am at the gym tomorrow._

+

The one good thing to have happened to me since the incident was the fact that people left me alone. 

There was nobody to question my whereabouts as I left the empty apartment the next morning. Alis was only coming two days out of five now, spending the rest of the time at the office to work reception. Which meant I was free to go wherever I pleased—mostly because Tamlin assumed I wouldn’t go anywhere at all, as I’d done for the last three months. 

As I approached the gym, nervousness bubbled within me each passing step. I couldn’t stand the anticipation as I traipsed up to the front door and heaved it open. Rhys was already there, leaning over the front counter and speaking quietly with the receptionist, who let out an airy laugh. At the sound of the door hinges squeaking, Rhys turned around. I swallowed hard as I took in appearance. 

He looked exactly as I’d last seen him—dark hair carefully combed to look perfectly messy, sharp jaw free of any facial hair to enhance his sharp features. His eyes, though…

They lacked their usual lustre. Like somebody had found the night sky’s options menu and dimmed the brightness of the stars. 

As he looked me up and down, something changed in his expression. Like disappointment. Or sorrow. I couldn’t tell. 

“Feyre, darling,” he said smoothly. He waltzed towards me, almost as though he were gliding. The air bent around him, as he stood before me, his signature smirk replacing his down-turned lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I’ve been busy.” I had to be curt, keep this short. I knew Tamlin would be seething if he’d found out that the two of us had been in contact once again, and I honestly couldn’t blame him. Last time we’d been together was one of the darkest moments in both of our lives. I didn’t want a repeater.

“Yes, the wedding preparations. When is it now? Next week?”

“Tomorrow.”

Rhys took a sharp breath through his nose and slowly nodded his head. “So it’s your bachelorette party tonight.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gods, no.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not celebrating your last night as a free woman.”

“Not enough party spirit within me, unfortunately.”

“Really? I pegged you as a tequila kind of girl.” He raised one plucked eyebrow. “If you needed my services, I could’ve been your nightly entertainment.”

“Nightly entertainment,” I scoffed skeptically.

“You know. Policeman who shows up to the party. Well, ex-policeman. Partially clothed. I make a great stripper, darling.”

“Gods, now I know why we haven’t spoken in months.”

“Yes, darling, the silence between us really has offended me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” I said, crossing my arms in front of me. 

His brows lifted, pleasantly surprised. “You blame me?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m very hard to find.” He must’ve known that I wouldn’t have moved from that dreaded place. 

He slid his hands into his pockets. “A phone works both ways, you know. And I didn’t know you were so aching to see me.”

“And I didn’t know that Hybern firing you meant radio silence on your behalf.”

Rhys swallowed hard. “I had to take a step back from the operation. He would’ve been very angered if I kept around, with the information I knew.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways. Why did you want to see me?”

At that, Rhys’s eyes hardened, and he cocked his head towards the back of the building. “Let’s go talk in Cass’s office.”

+

“Is he here today?”

“No. Which is why I wanted to meet here. I couldn’t think of anywhere else that would’ve been safe.”

A bubble of nervousness arose in my stomach as we walked through the familiar hallways leading back to Cassian’s office. “What do you mean, safe?”

A sigh heaved from the man as we took a seat in the two chairs before Cassian’s desk. We turned them so we could face each other, and I kicked my boots off so I could curl myself into the plush chair. For a few silent moments, all we did was stare. 

“Somebody’s targeting you.”

The words were enough to send a bolt of panic into my chest. I choked, “What? Who?”

“We’re not sure yet. All we know is that there’ve been multiple occurrences of hackers trying to break into both the security footage from the storage room and the override panel for the elevator in your building. One of my men has been trying to trace the IP address but so far they’ve been able to cover their tracks seamlessly.”

I closed my eyes. Here I was, thinking that everything had blown over so perfectly and I’d never have to face what I’d done again. But this time wasn’t a car accident. Lies couldn’t be twisted so easily when it came to guns and bodies. Cars and mangled metal, maybe. I’d gotten away with it. But this time…

“You said you were fired. That you had to stay away.”

“From the operation. Not from you.” He stared at me then, his mouth set in a firm, determined line. “After I left, Hybern and Tamlin never replaced me. Your fiancée has been trying to handle everything on his own, and it’s worked for him so far—but not anymore. Because somebody is deliberately seeking you out and trying to dig up what happened in the storage room. For revenge, to bring Tamlin or Hybern down, I don’t know. But that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Why?” The word was defiant and quiet. 

Rhys didn’t meet my eyes when he said, “Feyre, the second I stepped into that storage room and saw the pure fear you felt, the moment we sat in my house together and I saw the guilt eating away at you, I knew I couldn’t walk away. So this is me. Not walking away.”

Something about the way he said it or the expression in his face made my heart bleed. Here he was, a friend—possibly one of my only, true and good friends, who cared about me, cared about me safety—and yet all I could think about was Tamlin’s voice at the back of my head, warning me to stay away from him. That I couldn’t trust him. 

Once again, caught between the person I loved, and my own safety. 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Rhys. I really do.” I pushed off the stool and pulled my boots back on, then quickly zipped my coat up. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

“Feyre,” he begged, rising himself, “don’t do this. Listen to me for once. This is your _life_ at stake.”

I shrugged my shoulders and felt my lips tilt into a small, sad smile. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This one was short and boring, I know. More just to set up the next few events.  
> I promise, things will get more exciting!  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	11. Grave Digger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding. Well, kind of.   
> Song of the chapter: Grave Digger (stripped) by Matt Maeson (wow, yet another appearance! how unpredictable!)  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQuv78DyuFw
> 
> TW: Physical abuse, domestic abuse, dark thoughts. Read at your caution.

_** Chapter 10: Grave Digger ** _

The dress was monstrous. When I’d first tried it on, I thought it was a joke. Something Ianthe had picked out to make me laugh. But when I saw the joy and approval in her face, I realized the grave mistake I’d made in even setting foot in the thing. She’d called over the shopkeeper without a moment’s hesitation to announce that we’d made our decision, though I hadn’t even said a thing. 

It didn’t matter anyways. Weddings weren’t my thing, and I knew Ianthe had better taste than me. She knew that this would probably make Tamlin happy. Gods knew that I would’ve picked a dozen dresses before even nearing this one. 

And the mess and tangle of lingerie that I was wearing below this had me sweating and itching as I paced the entrance of the wide double doors leading into the church. I couldn’t even scratch—I wouldn’t know where to begin amidst the layers of tule and chiffon. The corset also made it hard to breathe. I’d balked when Alis had first presented it to me when she aided me in dressing, cursed everyone and everything as she’d pulled the strings taut and nearly squeezed the life out of me, yet appreciated the effect of it nonetheless. Though I was already thin enough as it was. 

“Are you almost ready?” Alis asked, her face bubbling with joy and excitement. I nodded my head in affirmation, trying to mimic her expression, but couldn’t help as my thoughts wandered to my family. 

I’d sent the invitation. I’d even called my father during those months of boredom, several times—fruitlessly. No one would walk me down the aisle, not that I needed it. I could walk myself. And I didn’t need my sisters as bridesmaids, my sisters who hadn’t deigned to speak to me in years. Alis would walk before me and hold my bouquet. White peonies, roses and baby’s breath. It was so enormous that my hands were lost in them. 

As though I was hearing it through water, the string quartet began to play in the distance through the closed doors before us. Ianthe was already in there, finishing last minute details, ordering everyone in their places, and was probably gushing with delight at this very moment. 

“Alright, it’s time,” Alis beamed, and I nodded my head hurriedly. Panic squeezed my lungs as the doors opened and Alis began walking ahead in her gold satin slip. 

Everyone stood, people I had seen at office gatherings, this or that party—my list of invites had been extremely short. Most of my friends were already in the wedding party, anyway. My family hadn’t showed up, which wasn’t to be a surprise. And Rhysand—

I hadn’t bothered inviting him or Cassian. I knew Tamlin would’ve said no anyways. 

The first step I took was shaky. Alis was nearly to the end, and I could only just be seen at the mouth of the church. Finally, people turned where they stood to take in the sight of me—baubled and made up like a dazzling doll. Murmurs of excitement and approval ran through the gathered crowd. 

And there, at the podium with the minister and Lucien at his side, Tamlin stood in his white tuxedo and black bowtie. His face was set in a full, dazzling smile as he took in the sight of me, and his green eyes were enough to have me melting. I took another step, ready to join us together, ready to step into the next chapter of our lives—

I looked down. To the white, velvet carpet that’d been laid on the church’s sandy, tan floors, and was transported to a memory that surfaced a few mere weeks ago. 

_“Flowers,” Ianthe said, clicking her pen against her lips. She’d invited me up to her office to discuss the finalizations of colour schemes, seating charts and the photo-booth (I didn’t know why we’d need a bloody photo-booth if we had a photographer already) while Tamlin finished up for the last hour of the day. I was still jittery after passing by Hum’s on the building’s main floor, and tried to ignore the intrusive thoughts trying to jam their way into my consciousness._

_“Um, whatever fits the scheme. White?”_

_Ianthe thought it over for a moment, her eyes flicking upwards as he tried to imagine it in her mind. “Yes, I guess that would work with your bouquet. For everything else, though—”_

_“I don’t care, honestly. Whatever fits the scheme.” I had no clue what the ‘scheme’ was, but I had to pretend as though I was reading her emails and was actually invested into this entire affair. Another thought of the shop entered my mind, and I blurted out, “Except red.”_

_“Hmm?” Ianthe clicked away at her tablet, eyes stuck to her screen._

_I repeated, “Any colour, except red.” She nodded absentmindedly, and I continued to flick through pictures of flowers, eyes training on the peonies._

Before, scattered perfectly haphazardly across the aisle leading me to my soon-to-be husband, were red rose petals, drops of blood speckled across the white. 

When I looked up at Tamlin, I saw that the handkerchief in his pocket was gold and red. 

Three hundred people blurred and melded together as they stared at me, dressed in this ivory gown. I shouldn’t be wearing this. Because I was a fraud. Because my hands, clutching the bouquet for dear life, were so filthy. 

Everyone else was thinking it as their eyes drank in my every step. They had to be. 

Each second extended longer than the last. Every pace closer to Tamlin, though, felt too fast— 

He stood there, his chin held high, his eyes glistening as the warm afternoon sun glinted across the velvet accents of his tux. Ahead of me, a cluster of red petals loomed—just like the pool I kneeled in next to Isaac’s dead body. 

I stopped in my tracks. Ten feet before the dais, I just…stopped. 

Lucien’s brow furrowed. Tamlin only stepped forward and extended his hand, the unwavering confidence in his features begging me to close the distance between us. Hundreds of eyes watched me as I stood there, unmoving. My heart was pounding in my ears. 

I was going to vomit. 

The sunlight was too harsh, the people surrounding me crowding in, trapping me, until there was barely any air left for my aching lungs to breathe. As inescapable as the vows I was about to make, binding him to me for life, to this broken, weary soul. 

Forever—I would never get free of myself, of my mind, of the beast that roiled within me, the one that’d pulled that trigger, the one that spent every waking and sleeping moment stuck in that car, kneeling in that storage room—

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, a small smile on his lips, but there was panic in his eyes. It was nothing like the panic within my chest, a bird flapping its wings, begging to break free. I only stared back, wide-eyed, unable to move. 

If I turned away, people would whisper. If I walked out—I’d find myself completely and utterly alone in this world. But I couldn’t make it to the dais. Not for my sake, but for his—he couldn’t shackle himself to me. I wouldn’t let him. 

_Butcher. Killer. Murderer of innocents._

My foot stumbled as I tried to retreat, but a piercing noise broke the silence as the middle-most stained-glass window of the church seemed to burst, then fall to the floor in scattered, broken pieces. 

People screamed, falling back, and many fell to the floor as the resounding sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the large space. I just stood there, mouth agape, unable to move. Everyone else was on the ground—I looked over to see Tamlin sprawled on the dais, Lucien and Ianthe beside him. But I could only stand there. 

Frozen. Paralyzed.

Then I felt heat, heat in my hands, and I looked down to realize that the flowers had been completely destroyed. They were shaking, and I realized it was my hands—shaking, just like they had been when I clutched that gun.

And to my right, embedded in the shredded wood of the pew, was a bullet. 

+

I sat in bed, the blanket curled around my shoulders, staring straight ahead as Tamlin made another phone call. 

It hadn't taken long for everyone to clear out of the church. People fled, alarms blared in the distance, and I remembered Tamlin yelling for me. But I'd only fallen to my knees, unable to move as I was brought back to my trembling legs buckling, falling to the cold cement blanketed in warm blood. His arms had wrapped around me, and I'd clutched him hard as he near dragged me out of the church, down the aisle of blood, to safety where the police were stationed. 

Rounds and rounds of questions. The angle of the bullet, the timeline of events. Tamlin frowned the entire time I carefully recounted walking down the aisle, and I left out the whole detail of me barely making it to the dais. Hours went by. Questions, security measures, phone calls and possible suspects. They'd scoped out the buildings nearby and found nothing. The security footage was requested from them all and would be looked over meticulously in the coming days. 

Still, as I wrapped myself tighter in the warmth of the sherpa throw, I couldn't help but think of Rhys's warning yesterday. How I'd blatantly ignored it, and purposefully kept it secret from the cops. 

Tamlin sighed and ended the call. His words had all blurred together throughout the day, I could barely decipher one from the next anymore. No, all I could focus on was the terror, the guilt—

Because bullet or not, I wasn't sure I would've walked down that aisle today. And that... 

That's what terrified me the most. 

Tamlin's eyes met mine. I didn't know what it was about the expression on his face, the exhaustion that weighed down his shoulders, but my eyes filled with tears. Chin quivering, I looked away, unable to face him. 

“Feyre,” he murmured gently, then kneeled on the bed, climbing into it until he sat beside me. A sob tore from my mouth as I turned into him, clutching his shoulder as I buried my face into his chest. 

“Why?” he asked. The betrayal in his voice stung. “Do you...” he trailed off, his voice thick with tears. “Do you not want to marry me?”

I looked up, telling myself that he at least deserved some sort of explanation. 

“No, Tamlin. I love you. I _love_ you.” My fingers trembled as I ran my hand through my hair to pull it away from my face. “It's just... I don't know what it was. I had a panic attack.”

His face hardened. We didn't usually talk like this, but it felt good to say it. To know he would listen. I continued, face heating with embarrassment, “There were red roses. And I looked at them and all I could think of was...” I couldn't finish the sentence. 

He knew, though. He knew, because he sighed and rolled away from me until he was standing once again, pacing the length our bed. I shifted until I was kneeling at the foot of it, sheets pooling around my thighs. For a few moments, he was just silent, until he finally turned to me with a sharp glint in his eyes. 

“Why couldn’t you have just tried? Held it together, for once?”

My expression dropped into a placid, stony one, filled with contempt. It was like all the blood left my veins and I was left with only icy, lethal disdain. “I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you today. Really. My panic is completely controllable, I just decided, I _chose_ to make a fool of myself in front of you and all your friends.” Then I stood, unable to be beneath him, below him. I saw, I saw the rage that was beginning to burn his eyes, and I knew what it would bring—

And I didn’t care. 

“Why aren’t we talking about the fact of how _you_ inconvenienced _me_ today, Tamlin? About how that bullet that nearly _killed_ me was all because of the situation _you_ put _me_ in? For _your_ company, and _your_ self?”

He pointed an accusatory finger at me as the blood filled his face. “You don’t get to say that. Everything I do is for you. For us. Don’t you dare tear me apart for the sacrifices I make.”

I laughed bitterly. “Sacrifice? You sit up in your ivory office pushing papers, signing deals and sweet talking crooked businessmen while I am nearly beaten to death in the trenches of your dirty work. So don’t fucking utter that word around me ever again.”

I turned away, prepared to barricade myself in the bathroom, take a cold shower maybe to cool the rage simmering my blood. Only I felt his hand wrapping around my wrist, pulling me back to face him. 

Before I knew it, I was against the wall, clutching at the hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing. 

No air. There was no air in my lungs, and I choked, sobbed, eyes wide with panic as Tamlin’s furious face was all I could see. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision, and I kicked, kicked with all my might—

He released me. I fell to the floor, hacking, heaving, trying to shove as much air as possible in and out of my chest. Everything burned, and my fingers felt numb. Tamlin didn’t say a word as I kneeled there, a trembling hand running over the aching skin of my neck. 

He didn’t say a word as he walked away. 

I’d pushed him. I’d pushed him too hard, and I knew how he’d react. I knew he’d do this. 

In the distance, a door slammed shut, and I knew he’d be sleeping on the couch in his study, tonight. 

I didn’t care. 

I didn’t care as I pulled myself up and half staggered into the washroom. I didn’t care as tears streamed down my cheeks, descending my bruised neck tentatively as if not to disturb the skin anymore than it’d already been violated. I didn’t care as I drew a bath, sank into its waters, and stared up at the ceiling wishing the human body wasn't so adamant on staying alive, that I could breathe the water into my weak lungs and finally have it all be over. 

I didn’t care about what Tamlin had done to me. Not anymore. Because the cruel, black wicked part of my soul, the one that murmured in my ear every waking second— _butcher, killer, murderer of innocents_ —

It knew. It knew that I deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said at the beginning, and as the tags mention, this fic is going to be pretty dark, and I'm sorry if that's not what you came for (but it's what I like writing and reading). Like always, I completely welcome your feedback and constructive criticism because it makes me a better writer and lets me know what you guys want to read, and hopefully I can incorporate it into the story. All your comments truly make my day, and entice me to write.   
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	12. when the party's over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre says 'fuck it'.  
> Song of the chapter: when the party's over by (ma girl) Billie Eilish  
> The song goes really well for the last third-ish of the chapter :)  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbMwTqkKSps
> 
> TW: Emotional abuse, non-con near the end, brief mention of physical abuse, dark thoughts. Please, if you're sensitive to the topics, read with caution.

**_ Chapter 11: When the Party's Over _ **

Relapses come slowly. 

They don’t happen overnight: you don’t go to sleep one evening and wake up the next morning with your brain scrambled and fried with darkness and shadows. It doesn’t hit like a wave or a bullet or blunt impact. 

Relapses are like parasites. They present themselves slowly, precisely, they’re smart—they know exactly what they’re doing. Relapses know your weaknesses, your Achilles’ heels, they know which strings and blocks to pull in order to make you unravel and come crashing down. But never, never are they fast. Never are they quick and dirty. They take their time and they enjoy it as they slowly suck the life out of you and you’re let with nothing but the shell of the person you once were. 

As I stared at myself in the mirror that night, I wondered how I let myself get this far. I wondered why I didn’t just leave, why I didn’t pack my things, cash my cheques, take my money and run. What was it that kept me here? Why didn’t I just…go?

In the shower, I scrubbed at myself over and over again, trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. Was it me? Was it my mind, prone to these slips?

Was it the man who occupied my bed?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

Because no matter how much I racked my brain, no matter how many times I tried to untangle this knot, all I found were more questions. More dead ends. More thoughts, darker than the rest, that were threatening to destroy me altogether.

The mirror was fogged over with condensation. Good. I didn’t want to see the finger-sized bruises peppering my neck. 

Because I knew they were there. They were blue and purple and gruesome, and I’d need to cover them up for the next week. Tamlin hadn’t tried to speak to me this morning as he got dressed for work, and I pretended to be asleep. Tonight would probably be another night of unbearable, stifling silence. 

But I didn’t care. It felt like somebody had poured cement in my body over night, leaving me stiff and heavy, and my head was filled with this mind-numbing static that wouldn’t go away no matter how much cold water I splashed on my face. 

Because another day of silence wasn’t anything new. This silence… it was all I had anymore. 

And I found that I’d grown fond of it, and began to fear the noise.

Noise, like the chime of the elevator that had me scrambling to the closet to pull on a turtleneck sweater and some leggings. Starting my day off nude in front of Alis wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She was supposed to stop by at some point today to drop off some groceries, but I didn’t expect her to be so early. 

“Hey Alis—” I croaked, voice rough, as I made my way to living room, only the person in the entrance wearing a black, crisp immaculate suit definitely wasn’t Alis. 

Rhysand stood in front of me, hands in his pockets, smug amusement pulling the corners of his mouth into a smirk. “Feyre, darling. Looking lovely as ever. Really love what you’ve done with your hair.”

I blinked. Seeing him here was a shock, but honestly I wouldn’t really put it past him at this point. Crossing my arms, I sighed. “How did you get in here?”

The smirk on his face paused for a moment as his eyes shifted around my face, then settled on my eyes. He shrugged. “You weren’t very subtle when you punched the code in. And Tamlin’s not very creative. Zero three twenty-one, first day of Spring.”

I stared at him pointedly, and the smug faded away. He took in my appearance—really searched my face and wandered my body. It would’ve felt predatory, even suggestive if his face wasn’t filled with concern and sorrow. 

My face filled with heat once more, and I turned around, swallowing hard. “Why are you here, Rhys.” It sounded more bored than curious. I knew why he was here, and I didn’t want to hear a word he had to say.

I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know he’d followed me and the scraping of the chair against the floors let me know he sat at the counter bar stool. For a few moments, he was silent as I got the espresso beans from the coffee counter and fired up the machine. 

“I miss you making my morning coffee. Nobody makes an Americano quite like you.”

I didn’t say anything. He goaded, “Nothing? No, ‘Thank you Rhys, I’ve missed you too’. No ‘Go to hell, Rhys’. Or my favourite, ‘You’re a prick, Rhys’.” 

I stilled and closed my eyes. “Get to the point.” I didn’t have time for his wit or sarcasm. I just wanted to be alone. 

His eyes practically burned into my back. I paid him no heed, though, as I poured the milk into the stainless steel steaming cup. Rhys cleared his throat, then said, “I was worried about you. After everything that happened yesterday.”

The din from the street below filled in the silence between us as I tried to find something to say. “You couldn’t have called? Texted? Something a little less invasive?”

“I called you seven times. Both last night and this morning.” 

I frowned. I hadn’t checked my phone at all, too preoccupied with…

Absentmindedly, my fingers brushed the collar of my turtleneck. “I’ve been away from my phone.”

“I knew there was a reasonable explanation. But I had to see you anyway. To make sure you were okay.”

The milk steamer whined and I winced, then said over the shrieking machine, “I’m fine. Happy? You can leave now.”

“Feyre.” He sounded hurt, like he was betrayed or something that I couldn’t trust him. “Please. I’ve been searching every possible lead to find the people trying to kill you. You know the police won’t know where to start, they have no clue what happened with Isaac and James.”

Hazel eyes flashed in my mind but I shoved them away. 

The bullet yesterday was a blip. I knew I should’ve but I… I just didn’t care.

“I told you Rhys. Let the police handle it, they know what they’re doing.”

“They don’t because they don’t know where to begin. You’re not listed to have any known enemies. Say, I don’t know, people who were killed in an accident at a coffee shop.”

I whirled around to him, spoon still in my hand and pointing at him accusingly. “You’re a real prick, you know that Rhys?” 

Rhys stared at me, spoon raised, looking like a madwoman, and grinned. “There’s the Feyre I know and love.”

But there was this…this distraught filling my chest. Like before an earthquake when you feel the ground beginning to tremble beneath you, so infinitesimally, but enough to let you know that the whole goddamn world is falling apart. The blood in my veins froze, then thawed and boiled over until I melted, angry tears in my eyes. 

Because this one interaction was probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in the last three months. Even with the wedding, even with the absurdities I dealt with being attached to this whole mess, this one simple conversation was more stimulating than three months living what was supposed to be my perfect life. 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he murmured, and I looked up, realizing my cheeks were wet with tears. Rhys’s face was soft as his gaze met mine. And I could tell he knew. 

The ring on my finger, though, Tamlin’s words in my ear, made me snap out of it. I wasn’t supposed to talk to Rhys. I wasn’t supposed to even be in the same room with him, lest I wanted to royally piss off my finacee. 

And I really couldn’t afford more nights like the last.

“Please, just get out. Leave me alone.” My voice was guttered. There was no winning not for either of us. Though Rhys had been a good friend, one of my only friends, my loyalty was to Tamlin. To the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. 

The thought shook me to my core. 

“Feyre—”

“Get out. Now.”

Rhys didn’t waste his time and slid out of the bar stool, feet swiftly carrying him to the front entrance. I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed in front of my chest as he straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. 

“One thing, Feyre,” Rhys said quietly, defeat lining the droop of his shoulders. 

“What?”

“It’s Cassian’s birthday tomorrow night. He’d really like it if you came. We’re going to Rita’s at seven.”

Tamlin would never let me go. And I was in no state to go to a night club, let alone with people I didn’t know, because surely there would be plenty more with them. But the kindness in his voice, the gentle, sincere manor with which he’d said it…

“I’ll think about it.”

***

I wanted to hurt him, I realized, as I sat in the bath, filled with bubbles so I couldn’t see my body. Alis had come and gone, the only other exciting part of my day—and I realized, stuck up here with nothing to do, that I wanted to hurt him. Like he hurt me. 

Even if it would make things worse. Even if it was stupid, and I was being reckless, immature, infantile, I wanted to hurt him. 

If that was going out with my friends, my true friends who had been there for me, then so be it. 

Because honestly, at this point, I didn’t know if there was anything else left for me. Hope had flown out the window the second that I’d pulled that trigger. The second that the bullet had whizzed past my face. 

The second he’d laid his hand on me. 

And I knew, because every time I took a bath, I had to hold my sponge as tightly as possible to keep my fingers from reaching into the drawer beneath the sink and resorting back to my old ways. 

***

That night, Tamlin bought me soup. 

Soup, and flowers, and chocolates—and remorse. It was all over his face, I could tell when he saw me in the turtle neck, and his eyes had filled with shame. Something softened in me, and I let him pull me into his arms. I let him talk, talk about nothing and everything as we ate in bed together, and he put on my favourite movie. 

I let him pull my body into the warmth of his. I let him touch me, intimate in a way we hadn’t been in a while. 

I almost laughed when I realized after we’d both finished that he hadn’t taken off my shirt. That it was too painful to remind him of what’d he done, last night, not ten feet away from where we laid intertwined in each other. 

So, no, there was no guilt the next day as I donned my warmest pair of dressy heels and a white, thin strapped dress I could layer beneath the black turtleneck I’d worn the day before. There was no guilt as I went out and bought a gift for Cassian using my secret debit card. And there was no guilt when I texted Tamlin saying I was going out with Alis for the night for drinks. She wasn’t going to be at reception today, and I knew that tomorrow morning when she stopped by it wouldn’t be too hard to ask her to cover for me. 

When seven o’clock came around, I was getting out of the Uber, my stomach in knots as I made my way to the hostess bar and asked, “Reservation for Cassian?”

“Right this way.”

The restaurant was food by day, shots by sundown, and I could see the dance floor in the distance, currently barren. I think I’d been here once, many moons ago in my college years, way before I’d met Tamlin. I also remember puking my guts out in the bathrooms, which only brought a small smile to my face. 

It terrified me with each step we took closer to the table. Knowing Cassian, there were probably two dozen people there, maybe a few gym rats, or worse, mousy bimbos—

“Here you are,” the hostess said, and pointed to the table in the corner. Booth style, not too far off the dance floor, with only…

Five people. Five people sat around the circular booth, Rhys and Cassian included—both of whom were laughing heartily at something a gorgeous, jaw-dropping blonde woman who swirled a glass of red wine in her hands. 

“Feyre!” It was Cassian who first spotted me, delight in his smile as he stood from where he was at the edge of the table. “You made it!” He slid out of his seat and made forward to wrap me in a hug. I couldn’t help but laugh as his arms squeezed me. 

“Jeez, you really need to come back to the gym. You feel like a twig.” He said as he set me down. I punched him in the arm, which earned me whoop and a strangely terrifying smirk of approval from the other, smaller woman with black hair. 

“A twig who hasn’t forgotten how to punch,” I said, before sliding into the table beside him. Across from me, looking as immaculate as always, Rhys grinned as he brought his drink to his lips. 

“Everybody, this is Feyre Archeron. Feyre, this is Azriel, Morrigan and Amren. But feel free to refer to her as Tiny One.”

“Put a muzzle on it, Cassian. Lest you want spit in your food.” Amren, the asian woman with dark hair and grey, gleaming eyes looked as though she would rather be anywhere but here. She looked like she ate blood for breakfast.

The blonde one, Morrigan, said, “These two always go on and on about you. I’m so glad we could finally meet. Honestly, they’ve been hoarding you all to themselves.” 

“For good reasons.” The last one, Azriel, said, voice low and rough like midnight. As I finally took in the dark hair, tanned skin and high cheek bones, I realized that I remembered him. I didn’t know where, but his face—it was like we’d seen each other just the other day. 

“You look so familiar,” I said, and Azriel’s head tilted to the side. His face betrayed no emotion, and I could tell by his stiff demeanour that he wasn’t much of a talker. It was like shadows clung to him, like he preferred it that way, blending into the background. 

He shrugged, the barest movement of his shoulders. Morrigan interjected, “I mean, he does look a lot like these two idiots.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Mor, that’s no way to speak to the person who signs your pay check.”

“Last time I checked, Mr. Noctis, we aren’t at work. And I may address my cousin however I please.”

My brows shot up as I looked from Mor to Rhys, from Mor’s round, rosy cheeks, fair skin and nearly bleach blonde hair to Rhys’s dark, tan features. I drawled, “Cousins?”

“In the loosest possible term biologically.” Cassian supplied. “Otherwise, they were basically attached at the hip as children. And now I’m stuck with her for every holiday and celebration against my will.”

“I can always return your gift, Cassian,” Mor said sweetly before taking a glass of wine. Then she looked to me and said, “Oh, we must get Feyre a drink. Pick your poison.”

I hadn’t drank in a long while. Usually just champagne or wine at Tamlin’s work events. But it’d been a long while since I had…

“Tequila?” Was the first word that left my mouth. I didn’t know what instinct made me say the most potent of liquors, but the knot in my chest was loosening with every smile and laugh shared around the table. Tonight, I wanted to let loose. I wanted to damn tomorrow and just do this one thing for myself.

For once, Tamlin’s voice wasn’t in the back of my head with a warning. And if that wasn’t a sign…

“Ooh, I like her. We can keep her. Make it two.” Amren said, a wicked smirk on her face. I didn’t know if it pleased me or horrified me.

Cassian jostled my shoulder and gleaned, “You’re gonna drink me under the table bringing the tequila out this early, Archeron.”

The waitress interrupted us, asking for our orders, and I quickly glanced at the menu and ordered the salmon and a salad, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to finish half of it. And, just before she left, Rhys added, “We’ll also take a round of tequila.”

The evening passed by savoringly slowly, peppered with fine food, strong drinks and conversations that had me stifling my laughter. Cassian, Azriel and Rhys recounted the times they were in the Academy training together and the foolish things they’d pulled on each other—Azriel had stolen Cassian’s clothes and forced him to run buck-naked through the dormitory courtyard—and Mor told me of all the stupidities that came with working retail as a teenager. Amren offered quips and snide comments, and chatted quietly with Rhys about matters that seemed business-related, by the look of seriousness in Rhys’s eyes. His gaze flicked to me, catching me staring at him—I looked away quickly, but not before I saw the small grin on his face. 

The meal, as the exorbitant prices promised, was delicious. And as I predicted, I only managed about two thirds of it before a wave of nausea and fullness ran over me and I had to resort to pushing food around the plate for the remainder of the meal. Rhys’s eyes narrowed as the waitress took away the plate, and I looked off towards the expanse of dance floor to conceal the blush flooding my cheeks. 

There was cake—was, meaning Cassian ate most of it—then more drinks. Too many, because next thing I knew Mor was laughing and screaming at the top of her lungs against the din of the pounding music, trying to entice the table into dancing with her. Azriel and Cassian immediately stood, the both of them disappearing into the amassing crowd on the dance floor, whereas Amren headed over to the bar looking for something stronger, apparently (as if the other rounds weren’t enough to knock someone as tiny as her on their asses). It left Rhys and I remaining in the booth. 

He pointed to the slice of cake sitting untouched before me. “You going to finish that?”

“Hm,” I snorted, “another bite wouldn’t hurt.” The chocolate mousse melted in my mouth and I sighed. Rhys was across from me in the semi-circle, and with the noise of the club, we’d have to shout at each other all night. So I stood, cake, fork and drink balancing precariously in my hands, and slid over until I was beside him. 

He looked down at me and wondered, “Didn’t feel like dancing?”

“I’ve got two left feet.” I replied before taking another bite, my eyes wandering over his seated silhouette. Tonight he hadn’t worn his usual immaculate suit, but instead opted for a black silk-like button down and black jeans, tailored to the very inch. From beneath the collar of his neck, I could see the hint of a tattoo, and my brows shot up. 

“You have a tattoo?” 

His fingers tugged gently at the collar of his shirt. The movement sent a draft of something sweet in the air, like citrus and jasmine. A refreshing, comforting scent that had me leaning back against the plush leather. “It’s customary for people in my culture to get these tattoos.”

“Where are you from?” I wondered, fingers wandering over to my drink (though I knew full well I should’ve been slowing down). 

“Illyria,” he answered, and pointed vaguely to the dancing crowd, “as are Cassian and Azriel. My mother was Illyrian and we were raised on the reserve. My father didn’t particularly like that, thought I should’ve been in the city with him, but my mother didn’t particularly care about what my father thought.”

Sipping from my drink, I nodded politely. I’d never been to the Illyrian reserve, which was an hour or so north of the city, though heard about it here and there in the news. Mainly about land disputes and rich assholes trying to buy it out. Now, looking at Rhys, the distinctive striking features made perfect sense. 

“You can stare all you want. I consider it volunteer work, letting you gawk at me so openly.”

My cheeks heated and my mouth dropped open. I scoffed, “Gods, now I know why your only friends are your employees.”

“Keep your friends close and your payroll closer.” He gave me a wink, and I rolled my eyes. My gaze wandered off to the dance floor, where I could spot Mor in the distance flailing her arms—gracefully—and swaying from side to side in her bright red, skin tight dress. Cassian and Azriel were alongside her, though Cassian’s eyes were fixed on another woman who’d fallen into step with him, a slick, seductress smile on her face. Rhys shook his head at the sight, despite his cheeky grin, and I only laughed as I took another sip. 

“Why aren’t you out there with them?”

At that, Rhys also took a long sip. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said, “I prefer your company far more to their sweaty…” he looked over, just in time to see the woman unabashedly grinding against Cassian, “‘dancing’.”

“Glad to know I rank a step above that.” My eyebrows raised emphatically, and Rhys’s face broke into a smile. I said, “Reminds me of my college days.”

“You went to college?”

“Prythian University,” I nodded, “two years only. I was part of a sorority for a while, though.”

His mouth fell open in surprise. “Oh, Feyre darling, you must tell.”

***

The rest of the night went…easy. I wasn’t worrying. There was no impending panic. There were no fears. Part of it had been the alcohol, yes—it’d loosened what’d been wound so tight for so long—but being here, being with people, laughing with friends… My mind, despite the haze of alcohol, felt clearer than it had in days. 

Talking with Rhys was easier than breathing. It started with my college days, then to his studies abroad—peppered with some particularly interesting sexual experiences in foreign countries—then moved onto how he’d met his friends, which he assured me, were family first, employees secondly. Cassian had been abandoned in the Illyrian village, left to fend for himself in an inexistent, permanently drunk foster family, and Rhys could tell by the way the boy never had a lunch at school. CPS hadn’t gotten involved because of the abhorrence that was dealing within the torrid laws regarding indigenous communities, which meant Cassian was stuck. Rhys had found Cassian shivering in the cold at recess—his family hadn’t gotten him a winter jacket—and decided to bring him home to his mother. She’d been furious at first, but Cassian returned the next day, and the day after. 

The same had been for Azriel, though the details were much more vague about the man cloaked in shadows. It was a gruesome tale, being an illegitimate son, constantly berated and beaten by his parents and older brothers. He’d gotten the gnarled, scarred hands because they thought a fun experiment would be to douse Azriel’s hands in gasoline and set them on fire. When Rhys came home with another stray, this time his mother didn’t even bother with fury. Only set to buying another cot to be squeezed in next to the two other boys. 

Amren, though, met Rhys much later—in his college years, after the academy. She was an upperclassmen he’d met at a bar and tried to hook up with, to which she responded by humiliatingly laughing in his face. Rhys admitted he’d never felt more undignified than when Amren was doubled over in stitches at the thoughts of sleeping with him. Yet still, they’d become fast friends, and even faster business partners. Amren was the top of her class in law school, one of the smartest people he’d ever met, and as soon as he seized control of the company, his first order of business was hiring her as his second in command and chief legal officer.

The second order was to hire Morrigan—simply Mor—as his chief experience officer. Her and Rhys’s father had been the most invested in the company being the two major shareholders, though Rhys’s father shares made Keir’s, Mor’s father, look like pennies. Mor’s childhood had been a series of parental pressure, encouraging her to be wed off to exemplary, rich suitors Keir consistently tried to set her up with. She’d been engaged to marry one of them, Eris, son of Autumn Publishing’s CEO, not of her own volition. Rhys didn’t mention any specifics, only that it’d ended horribly, and Mor had never been the same since. But she was fiery, determined, and Rhys could only describe her as his best friend (though he made me promise to never mention that to her). 

At some point, Mor had to come peel Rhys and I away from the booth—despite our vehement protests—and drag us onto the dance floor. The whole lot of us were jumping, screaming at the top of our lungs, and pounding back more liquor as the night sped along. I danced with everyone (Amren compromised by allowing us to dance near where she was seated by the bar), even Rhys, whose hands had been soft and warm as they wandered down the skin of my arms and shoulders. Cassian and I shimmied, Mor and I fake tangoed, even Azriel gave me a few twirls, not before it felt like the liquor was going to come straight back up, and I had to take a seat. The plush back of the booth seemed comfier than when I’d first sat down at the beginning of the night. 

“Feyre?” Cassian asked. I opened my eyes, not having realized they were closed in the first place. Exhaustion had hidden just far enough away from me to have not noticed it drenching my bones. Beads of sweat had gathered on Cassian’s forehead from all the dancing. My tongue felt limp and heavy in my mouth, and the room felt as though it was spinning.

“Yes, my good sir?” I grinned sheepishly. Cassian’s mouth fell open in amused shock. 

“You’re drunk,” he chortled. 

“Pfft. Am not.”

“Are too,” he said, letting out another laugh. “Dear gods. What are we going to do with you?”

“Let me have some fun!” I whined, then knocked back the rest of my glass. My fingers groped atmy throat as if they could ease the fire slithering in my chest. It burned all the way down, like I knew it would burn on its way back up—but I wanted more. This excitement, this pleasure, no matter how clouded or distorted it was, was all I had anymore. 

“Let’s slow down, there, you’ve had a lot tonight.” Cassian suggested as I tried to wrench myself up from the table to get more. My butt hit the cushioned seat once more, body bouncing slightly with the impact. It made me laugh.

A laugh that slowly melted away as I took in Cassian’s sombre gaze, trained on my mouth. No, not on my mouth, I realized, but lower. My neck. 

My stomach dropped. The neckline must’ve shifted, already it’d barely covered them in the first place—

Cassian’s eyes were burning when they met mine, and it was like my head was dunked into ice cold water, and I was sober in the span of a heartbeat. 

“Feyre,” he breathed, and it was like the rest of the club disappeared. 

I didn’t waste another second. He’d already known too much, and by some sort of miracle had kept it to himself, but this—this would ruin Tamlin and I. Quickly, I scrambled to find my bag, and pulled out my phone to call an Uber. 

Only to find twenty two missed calls, and over fifty text messages from Tamlin. The earth dropped out from underneath me. My chest collapsed as I realized how horribly, horribly wrong this had all gone. 

I should have never stepped foot outside the apartment. I should’ve just grinned and bared it instead of creating this steaming shit storm raining down on me. 

Cassian was shouting something over the music, and I couldn’t hear him as I pressed away from the booth, heading to the club’s side door entrance where the smoker’s were. A voice called out my name, and I turned around to look over my shoulder—

To bump face first into a hard, male chest, sending me nearly teetering to the floor. When I looked up, an apology already on my tongue, every nerve in my body jumped as my eyes met Tamlin’s golden emerald ones, boring into my soul like he would shred it apart with his bare hands. 

“I didn’t know Alis’s nephew was turning twenty one,” Tamlin snipped coldly, his fingers tightening around my wrist to the point of teeth-clenching pain. 

“Tamlin, please. Not here. Let’s go.”

“What did you think would happen, Feyre? That I’d sit idly by as my wife was out to a child’s birthday party until one in the morning?”

“Fiancée,” I corrected seethingly, my hand slithering between us and pressing against his stomach to get him to move. “Let’s leave.”

“Feyre!” A voice called once more, only it died out right behind me. I sighed, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as I turned to see Cassian standing there, his expression one of stone cold fury as he stared Tamlin down. 

Tamlin, the picture of opposition, only laughed. “I see. Alright.” He looked at me, but inclined his head to Cassian. “You came for a quick fuck?”

My face flushed with shame. I couldn’t even look at Cassian. “Tamlin, stop.”

“No, I get it. I understand. I think I have to set the record straight, though.” The only warning I had was the clenching of his fist, and it was the only warning I needed. I acted on instinct and brusquely grabbed my fiancée by his right arm to hold him back. I hate that I knew it was his preferred hand to punch with. 

Tamlin whirled on me, his eyes burning with rage. His hand clutched my jaw, fingertips pressing painfully into my cheeks, and I gasped as he pushed me into the wall perpendicular to the exit door. He growled, “Stay out of this. You’ve done enough already, you fucking—”

“Let go of her!” Cassian yelled, striding towards us like he was ready to slam Tamlin through the goddamned door. 

Another figure appeared in the background, the same man who’d been outside the door who only uttered, “You two. Out. Now.” Pointing to both Tamlin and I, he signalled for us to step out. Even Cassian paused at the bouncer’s presence. 

And behind the bounder stood Rhys, whose eyes were filled with contempt for the man beside me. He’d lowered his hands, thank the gods—I don’t know what Rhys would’ve done if he’d found us like that. Eviscerated Tamlin, most likely. 

I just wanted to go home. I wanted the silence back. 

“Let’s go, Feyre,” Tamlin said, laying his hand on my shoulder. I flinched at his touch. 

We stepped out the door, and I didn’t look back, though I knew their eyes were burning through me. 

***

“I told you to never speak to him again.”

I said nothing. It was true. I’d explicitly gone behind his back. 

“He was being friendly, Tamlin.”

“You’re not friends. Rhysand is not your friend. How many times do I have to say it to you for you to finally understand?”

_He’s more of a friend than you_ , I wanted to spit, but there was no fire left in me. It’d been strangled out the moment his hands had clenched around my throat, bereft of the oxygen needed to keep on.

“I know you went to see him before the wedding.”

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even look at him from where I sat perched on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been following me again?”

“Because you’ve been disobeying me.”

_Disobeying_. The word sliced through me. Like I was no more than his pet. 

“He’s the danger, Feyre. He was involved in the operation that nearly got you killed. The day after you went to see him, the day of our wedding, that sniper nearly killed you. Don’t you see it?”

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to draw a map of Tamlin’s ignorance, of all the ways he’d went wrong—I wanted to show him his shortcomings, how foolish he was not to see that he’d dug this grave himself. 

But there was nothing left within me. Only a barren of wasteland bestrewed with the ruins of the person who’d crumbled into nothing. 

“I’m sorry.” The words were broken jagged pieces I offered to him with bloody hands. 

He didn’t respond. Only approached me slowly, carefully, then tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I sighed and leaned into the palm of his hand. Then he was kissing me, pushing me back onto the bed. 

Mine, mine, mine—I could see the word in his eyes, feel it with every thrust of his body from behind me, hands gripping my back and pinning me to the mattress. Protect, protect, protect. We both finished, and he rolled onto his side and fell fast asleep. 

I curled onto my side, wondering if the tears would ever come. They didn’t. Only silent, dry sobs I tried to stifle with my pillow. 

Because I wouldn’t dare shatter the silence I’d finally found at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people! So sorry for not updating in a while. Wanted to thank you for your patience with a longer update :)  
> PLZ NOTE I DID NOT SPELL/PLOT CHECK ANY OF THIS  
> I just started my winter semester so I'm still adjusting from winter break hibernation mode to having to wake up at 5 am :) i :) need :) sleep :)  
> And being a social science student means I'm constantly reading stuff and most days I just hate staring at words, which is why writing this chapter took so long. I am sick of words.  
> I'm also reading the Witcher series at the moment (which I DEFINITELY recommend you should pick up) because the TV show was so good. I mean. Henry Cavill. Need I say more? (side note: henry cavill is the only living human i know that could possibly play Rhys in an adaptation. And for that matter, he could absolutely play Rowan. I mean he already freaking looks like Rowan in the Witcher series. Your thoughts?)  
> Anyways, as always, your support on this story is overwhelming. I can't wait to write the rest of this just to see your reactions! Always open to suggestions, constructive criticism, witty comments, song suggestions, anything! Drop a comment, it'll make my day :)  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (illyrianwingspans on tumblr)


	13. Twenty Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dark and twisty bend in our narrator's story. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Twenty Twelve by Matt Maeson (how shocking!)  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oz8NDZ9ids4
> 
> TW: Mention of physical/emotional abuse, domestic abuse, self-harm and dark thoughts. If you're sensitive to these topics, please read with caution.

**_ Chapter 12: Twenty Twelve _ **

“You need to get off the couch.” 

I dragged my eyes up to meet Lucien’s. (That movement alone was enough to tire me). He was staring at me, arms crossed, contempt making his muscles contract beneath his button down. I knew him being here was a sacrifice. Tamlin didn’t like him leaving the office. But he did so, most lunch times. I think it’d been Alis that sent him after me after she noticed I’d been docile for over two weeks now. The only fresh air I’d gotten was sips of it in the morning when I went to the balcony. 

I never stayed long, though. Too tempting. 

He’d cook for me and I wouldn’t eat it. He’d sit with me, talk into the open—it was fruitless, as I only had eyes for the TV, or for sleep. But he came every day, nonetheless. 

“I’m tired.”

“Bullshit.” Lucien said, reaching his hand out for me to take it. “Get up.”

“I’m not in the mood, Lucien,” I meant to be forceful, but it sounded more like a defeated sigh than anything. 

“Get up.”

“Lucien—”

“ _Get up_ ,” he snapped, and my head finally whipped to meet his, a battle of wrath that had our gazes locked together. 

“ _No_ ,” I bit out. My chest heaved at the effort it took, the clenching of my teeth. “Stay out of this, Lucien.”

“I won’t stand idly by and watch you destroy yourself.”

Destroy myself. As if I had a say in any of this.

He must’ve seen the paradox of what he said, because his shoulders hunched and he said, “We both know how he can get. Everything is just getting too heated right now with Hybern—it’s taking a toll on him. On all of us. I’m trying to get him to let up.”

I stayed silent, unable to meet his gaze. Everything was always so focused on Tamlin— _his_ stress, _his_ business dealings, the pressure on _him_ —and yet day in and day out, all I could picture him doing was sweet-talking clients, reading documents, making calls. Maybe it was my own selfishness that made me fail to see it, but I remained resentful, unable to respond to Lucien.

“Nothing will work, Lucien. I know him. You know him. I'm stuck.”

Trapped. I wanted to say trapped, because there may as well have been steel bars over the windows. But it was too blunt, too gory to equate my current lifestyle to a prisoner or a caged bird. 

But that's exactly what it felt like. 

“I'll talk to him,” he tried again, the hope draining from his face with each passing second. 

“Don't stick your neck out just for me.”

“My loyalty is to Tamlin, Feyre,” Lucien said quietly, “but also to my friend.”

He left, and I burrowed deeper into the blankets, eyes closing from the burden of exhaustion a simple conversation now weighed down on me. 

***

I didn’t know how I felt as Tamlin put his hand on my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before we exited the car. New clothes always made my skin itch, and I fidgeted in the leather seat as the bright sun cast a glare in my eyes. A routine that’d been second nature to me felt as though I was walking in another person’s life. This morning, I’d brewed two coffees, one which I’d sipped and one that I’d packed in my bag, knowing that I’d definitely need all the caffeine I could get today. 

And, the fact that I didn’t want to go back to that shop. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, go back into that shop. As it passed by in the lobby, I averted my eyes, refusing to relive the moment when the barrel of that gun pressed into my forehead.

We both waved to Alis on the way through reception. She took a double take as she saw me, clad in black pants and a checkered blazer, at Tamlin’s side on our way up to the last floor. 

Lucien had pushed. He’d pushed, to his detriment, but Tamlin finally eased up. If I wouldn’t work in the coffee shop, and Tamlin wouldn’t allow me to go anywhere else, the best compromise would be to work with him. 

Well, not exactly him. With Ianthe. 

I wasn’t prepared emotionally nor physically with what today would involved. Not because I was exhausted—which I most definitely was—but because I hadn’t spoken directly to Ianthe in a month, since the wedding, and I _liked_ it that way. Tamlin punched in the elevator code, the same one as our apartment, and I frowned. 

“Did you change the codes at home yet?” I asked Tamlin. After Rhysand had waltzed in that day, I’d asked Tamlin to change them lest the dark-haired man would attempt to try again. 

“Mhm,” he said, but his eyes were glued to his phone screen. I let out a silent sigh. Long day indeed. 

As we got to the executive floor, Tamlin went directly to his office and gave me a kiss on the cheek before depositing me with Ianthe. She bade Tamlin a good morning, then her eyes turned to me. The look she gave me screamed that she was already frustrated, as though my presence alone were a burden. 

“Alright, Feyre,” she said merrily. “Let me show you to your office.”

The elevator was two doored, so that Tamlin’s office was one wing and the board of directors and other chief officers were separate from him. This side of the wing was like a T, straight ahead being Tamlin’s office, a conference room to the left, and a very short, narrow hallway to the right. Ianthe diverged to the right and unlocked one of the creaky rooms, flicking the light switch with her long, brightly coloured fingernails. 

“This is you,” she said brightly, though there was no way of making this situation any better: my ‘office’ was no more than a janitor’s closet. Long and narrow, with a small desk that barely fit a desktop a few files and a landline, with no windows. Beside the desk was a filing cabinet that Ianthe pulled open. 

“In here are our old files that haven’t been digitized. For now you can start by entering these into our customer system and filing them with the information provided on the summary sheet stapled to the front.” She pulled one open and showed me the page, which was pretty standard. I nodded, and she pulled up the computer application for the filing data system they kept. 

“That can probably keep you busy for a day or two, so we’ll start there for now. Lunch is at twelve,” and that was all before she sauntered out, closing the door loudly behind her. 

I sighed, pressing my fingertips to my temples, staring back and forth between the files and the computer. This was going to be hell. 

_At least_ , I told myself as I began carefully, painstakingly reading the summary sheet, _I’m not being gunned down._

***

It took me all week to finish all the files. 

The words scrambled beneath my eyes, whether they be in the illegible hand-written notes or the glare of the computer screen. Every night I came home with a headache, and barely had time to force food down my mouth before I collapsed into bed. One night I woke up to pee and realized I hadn’t even taken off my work clothes.

From my desk, I could hear Tamlin and Ianthe chatting at her desk. Their laughter rang through my desolate office, making me cringe as I took another sip of my coffee, and tried to focus on the task before me. I thought it would be monotonous, repetitive, but each case and client had specificities that had me digging through the system—one I barely knew how to work—to ensure that I checked everything off. Names repeated themselves over and over again, and I always had to make sure that it wasn’t just a file I’d misplaced but actually already listed.

I think the worst part of it all was that this work wasn’t _essential_. They could’ve kept these files in the cabin for all they cared. They just wanted to give me something to do, like I felt important. 

Every now and then, Tamlin would come and visit. For him, I’d put on a smile, pretend like this was the best idea we’d ever had, working together. I’d have lunch in his office with him if he wasn’t in a meeting. 

One day he’d leaned over and kissed me, longingly, heatedly—it’d been a while since we’d been together like that. Every bone in my body was exhausted, but I’d kneeled before his chair. The day after, when Ianthe went to run an errand, he’d locked the door to his office and turned to me, eyes filled with lust. The wood felt cold against my cheek as he’d bent me over his desk. 

In my office, though, the world felt obsolete. Every creak or flicker of shadow made me jump. One day, the lights flickered and I nearly broke into sobs. My chest tightened the moment I crossed the threshold, images of the trapped car filling my mind. 

Friday night, we went home for the weekend, but Tamlin continued his work in his office. It left me back to my old patterns, holed up on the couch until I couldn’t tell the difference between the ends of my body and the beginnings of the plush leather. 

Ianthe didn’t know what to give me the next week. She resorted to having me file through emails, which was more mind-numbing work of rifling through spam and sorting business inquiries. Whenever I got bored, though, I dug through the application. I had unrestricted access—Ianthe assumed Tamlin wouldn’t mind—so I read through current files. When my eyes fell onto a name, my heart jumped. 

_Hybern Inc._

Hesitantly, I looked over my shoulder to the door and went to slide the lock. Only I sighed as I realized that this was a fucking janitor’s closet, and the lock was on the outside.

Instead, I angled my chair to black the door’s way, and began skimming the file. 

It was long. Pages and pages of notes, probably annotated by Tamlin, as well as deeds of sale, co-ownership declarations and contracts. None of the legal jargon language made sense. Nonetheless, I dug around through my measly desk until I found a portable hard drive, then saved the lengthy document. 

I swallowed hard as I looked down at the USB key. It burned in my hand as I pulled it out of the computer and chucked it into the depths of my purse. 

Just in case. 

Ianthe’s laugh carried out through the short corridor, and I immediately exited the program and wiped my history. There could be no room for any doubts about me in either of their minds. Their laughter continued, and I creaked my door open amidst the raucous to see what was so goddamn hysterical as to disturb the entire floor. 

As I approached Ianthe’s desk, their chuckles erupted once more. Ianthe said, “And then Jensyn looked to her and said—” Ianthe paused when she saw me, eyelash extensions batting together once. Smiling politely, she asked, “Is there something you needed?”

Mouth open in confusion, my eyes darted between her and Tamlin, who also seemed to think that I had a question. 

My cheeks heated. It couldn’t have been any more clear that I’d intruded in on their conversation. 

“Um, I just wanted to know if you want me to empty the junk file once I’m done sorting.”

“Of course, go ahead.” She said. Silence ensued once more as the three of us looked to one another. Without another word, I turned around and headed to my office, face and ears pounding with embarrassment. From behind my closed door, I could hear Tamlin’s laughter pick up once again. 

Tears threatened to fall over. But they never came as I buried those feelings deep down inside me.

***

I sighed for what felt like the millionth time as I read through the file again. Sweat collected on my lower back, and I gulped down another sip of water. The room felt too hot. Too enclosed. 

Ianthe had me working on filing current clients within the application, which was a completely different system than the older paper files. Every computation had me squinting my eyes, looking between the codes that Ianthe had scribbled for me which were a dozen numbers long and the ones that looked up at me on the screen. A dull throb sounded throughout my head, so bad that I had to close my eyes and look away from the screen. 

Instead, I punched in the extension to Ianthe’s desk, and she picked up on the first ring. “Yes, Feyre?”

“Hi, uh sorry to bother you I just needed to know if you wanted me to sort by lot number or last name of the beneficiary.”

“Oh, lot number, definitely. And don’t forget to update all the deposit certificates if you see that a new payment’s been made.”

I swallowed hard, looking at the dozen or so files that I’d already ticked off the list she gave me. “Deposit certificates?” 

“Yes, the receipts that clients get after they put a payment down on the property. If there was a new payment, come to my desk and look through the deposit cabinet and find the right one, scan it, then upload it to the file.”

“Oh, um, I think I might need help with that.”

Silence. Then, “Alright, just come up to the front desk and I’ll talk you through it.”

It took everything within me not to slam the phone down. Then everything within me not to break into sobs as Ianthe taught me the process, step by step—which was extremely, banally simple—as though I were an incompetent child who couldn’t do simple math. After a half hour, I finally got the hang of it and headed back to my office, not bothering to close the door behind me as I knew I’d be wandering in and out to scan the files. 

She’d told me I should be able to finish the updates in a few days. Only a week later, I was still running back and forth between her desk and mine, still puzzled as I continued working out nooks and crannies of the filing software. The worst part, though, was that I could tell she was frustrated with me. She wasn’t even trying to hide her scowl of disappointment every time I interrupted her work, nor her sighs as I asked question after question. 

Tamlin peaked through his office every now and then, all smiles and jokes as he saw the two of us working together. “My real wife and my work wife,” he’d say, and Ianthe would laugh. I didn’t have the energy to correct him. I didn’t have the energy, either, to tell him I wasn’t in the mood when we ate lunch together and his fingers ran too far up my thigh. He did the work anyways as he had me over his desk time after time. 

As I walked back to my office and plopped down on my chair, still trying to fix my ruffled hair after he’d pulled on it a little too hard, I kept the door open, unable to stand the feeling of it enclosed on me anymore. Ianthe’s laughter carried through the floor once more, and I rolled my eyes as I listened in on their conversation. 

“So you remember what I told you about Jensyn and Marcia? Well, anyway, the other day in the meeting, Marcia outright called him out in the meeting about denying her vacation days, and he looked her straight in the eye and told her that next time she calls in sick, she better delete her instagram pictures of her in the club the night before.”

Rich, booming laughter followed as Tamlin said, “I knew I hired that guy for a reason.”

There was more office talk that I tuned out while checking and emptying the junk mail before Ianthe dropped her voice an octave. With the door closed, I definitely wouldn’t have heard, but she may have been talking right to me as she said, “Tamlin, I need to talk to you about Feyre.”

Ice filled my limbs. My fingers paused, poised over the keyboard, waiting for his reply.

“What about her?” Tamlin wondered, voice equally low. I held my breath, ears straining.

“She’s slowing me down, Tam,” Ianthe said, and heat flooded my face. “I can’t keep doing this. Every five minutes she keeps asking questions I’ve answered dozens of times.”

My ears were hot with embarrassment, and I took deep, even breaths, trying not to break down then and there. 

“I know,” Tamlin admitted quietly, “but there’s nothing else for her to do. She needs this.” Tamlin sighed. “Give her simpler things. Getting coffee and lunch, answering the phones.”

Not defending me. As always, putting his employee’s productivity, his company, before me.

I couldn’t listen to the rest of the conversation. I sat there, slouched in my chair, waiting for the tears to come. Waiting for the pain in my chest to leak throughout me, for the tears to pour down my cheeks. 

But as I sat there, I realized, I couldn’t feel anything at all.

***

“Spring Corporations,” I answered dully. The person asked to be patched through to Tamlin, and I punched in his extension code, waiting until I heard my fiancees voice before setting the phone back in its holster. It was the second call I’d received all day. The first was Ianthe, teaching me how to answer and send the call to Tamlin’s extension. 

Besides that I sorted through the emails. Ianthe had sent me to get her and Tamlin coffee as well, but I stared at her blankly when she told me her order from Hum’s. There was no way I was going into that shop for her. Ten minutes later, a pair of footsteps could be heard. I heard Alis’s voice wishing her a good day. 

I was back to square one. Doing fuck-all, all day, mind wandering as I was stuck in the office chair. I felt like a child playing pretend to feel important. At this point, there was no point in me even being here anymore. The couch at home was definitely more comfortable, anyways. 

The phone rang, snapping me away from my thoughts. I cleared my throat, picked up and said, “Spring Corporations.”

Silence. “Hello?” I demanded.

Then, “Feyre?”

All my muscles stiffened at the sound of that voice. That voice, and that face, the one I’d been blocking out of my memory and mind for the past month and a half. “Why are you calling Tamlin’s office, Rhys?”

“Why are you working in Tamlin’s office, Feyre?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll transfer you to Tamlin.” 

“No, no Feyre wait.” Desperation had seized his voice, and it was enough to pause my fingers before they punched in Tamlin’s extension. “I need to talk to you. I found something this morning and I really just need you to listen to me. Please.”

“Didn’t you get the message when I blocked you? I don’t care anymore, Rhys,” I said, not caring that my voice was cold and unfeeling, not caring that all he wanted to do was help. 

“Somebody hacked into your apartment's mainframe system today. They are trying to get to you and Tamlin, and they're very close.”

I blinked, once, twice, not understanding how the statement didn't jar me. “Do you know who it is?”

“No,” he said, and the way he said it made me know that it was killing him, “all I know is that you're in danger, Feyre. Real imminent danger. You need to protect yourself—”

Closing my eyes, the throb behind my forehead worsened as I drawled, “Why can't you just talk to Tamlin, Rhys? There's nothing I can do.”

“Just tell him yourself, Feyre,” he said like it was obvious, like telling my fiancee that I've been speaking to the man whom he told me never to see again wouldn't get me in a pile of steaming shit. “This is about your safety.”

“He won't believe me.”

“Leave him.”

Silence. Then cold, twisting fury in my gut. “Excuse me?”

“As a matter of fact, you're not safe anywhere near that man, Feyre. Leave him. Mor has a place you can stay at—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rhysand? Leave my fiancee? Leave my life?”

“At least you'll be less miserable than the way you're living in that prison.” My mouth was wide open, unable to answer. Rhys said frantically, his voice laced with pain, “It's killing you, Feyre. How can't you see that?”

“You don't know me, Rhys, and you sure as hell don't know what's good for me. Stop pretending like you have a say in any of this. I made your fucking coffee, that's it. So please, just—”

“Who the fuck are you talking to?”

The phone dropped from my hand. 

Tamlin stood in the doorway, fists already clenched at his sides. 

My fingers shook as they clenched the arms of my chair, pining my wrists down in his vice-like grip. His golden hair was hanging haphazardly around his face. He was a beast incarnate as the anger swelled within him, ready to explode. 

“Tamlin,” I breathed. “I was just telling him to stop calling. He kept going on—”

“Why didn't you hang up?” he growled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I flinched. “Tamlin—”

“And to top it off,” he smiled, and ugly gut-clenching smile, “he's telling you to leave me? Is that how it is? You want to leave me, Feyre?”

“No, Tamlin, I love you,” my voice trembled. “It wasn't—it's not—”

From the phone dangling in my lap, faintly I could hear, “Feyre—”

Tamlin's eyes widened with flames of rage. One moment he was towering in the doorway, the next he reached over and tore the phone from my desk and threw it across the room, the sound of plastic splitting and scattering all over the ground filling the small space. I wasn't breathing as his hands then slammed down on the arms of my chair and he slammed it back against the wall, my head hitting the cold hard cement as the wheels creaked and groaned beneath me. Pain bloomed across my scalp, and a sob squeezed out of me as his nose was up against mine. 

“I told you never to speak to him again,” he spat, “and still, after everything you don't listen to me.”

“Tamlin,” I sobbed, “I'm sorry.”

“Downstairs. Now. Lucien's driving you home.”

***

I pulled the hood of my coat over my head. I'm pretty sure it was bleeding. 

My arms were covered in sleeves of bruises. I hadn't realized until the adrenaline left my body how forceful he'd been. The coat covered them at least—I couldn't bare any stares right now. Not in the midst of the chaos threatening to consume me whole. 

When I passed Alis, her face was one of devastation as she took me in. I only walked faster, but not before she called out, “Feyre!”

Despite everything screaming to run, to get out of this place, I turned and faced the gentle, kind woman who'd been an integral part of my life for the last two years. Her brown skin stood stark against the collar of her white blouse, the sleeves of which she clutched as she took me in, her mouth tightening into a scowl. 

“What did he do?” she wondered quietly. Everyone else in the lobby milled about, without a care, not witnessing or paying mind to the horror amongst them. 

“It's nothing, Alis,” I said quietly, unable to meet her eyes. 

She stared at me—I could feel her piercing gaze burning through me—then quickly scribbled a number down. “My personal cellphone number,” she explained, tearing the page off and placing it in my hand. “Call it for any reason, any need.”

I nodded numbly, slipping the paper into my purse, then headed for the building's main exit. Wading through the crowd of people, my mind kept flashing back to Tamlin towering over me and—

How powerless. How seemingly insignificant I'd become, both to him and to myself. 

Because if I cared even a little about myself, why couldn't I leave him?

My frown deepened as I saw Lucien, gaze full of pain and empathy as he stood in front of the car, hands braced against the hood. Immediately, his arms wrapped around me, and I stood there, unable to react. He was all I had, him and Alis. My final lifelines. My sole friends. 

I couldn't remember the last time Tamlin had held me like this. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt loved. Not just told the words, not just promised a partnership, not just cohabiting the same living space, not just sex and niceties—but loved.

And yet, this was all I had. In a way, after all the stains I'd left on this world, maybe it was all I deserved. 

In the car, we stayed silent. The elevator as well. I left for my room and changed into something more comfortable, checked my head to see the damage—I had been bleeding, but it was dry now, and easily covered by pulling my hair back in a ponytail. 

It was only finally when we both sat on the couch, facing the silent, blank TV did Lucien say anything. In those moments of silence before he opened his mouth, I could feel my heart beating, slowly, lethargically, as though it had given up as well. 

“You have to understand, Feyre,” Lucien said quietly, “the amount of stress he's under.”

My eyes closed. This was it.

There comes a point during a relapse, I realized, a breaking point. One when the obstacles become insurmountable, when hope within fingertips' reach disappears from view, when the little light left in your dark, fucked up world extinguishes completely. 

As Lucien kept explaining how Tamlin was going through a phase, a rough patch, that things would eventually ease off and get better, I broke. The parts of me I'd tried to hold together for so long cleaved apart. I could feel myself exiting my body. I was disappearing before my very eyes, and there was nothing left to stop it. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

I hadn’t realized he’d finished speaking and a long pause of quiet stretched between us. Distantly, I shook my head. “Just go.”

His face fell. “Feyre—”

“I need to be alone right now. I need some silence, and I need space to breathe, and I need you to leave.” I was completely calm. There was nothing else within me to draw from, no anger or rage, no resentment, no sadness. Nothing. 

Reluctantly, he pressed up off the couch and I heard the chime of the elevator and his heavy footsteps, signalling that he was on his way down and I was finally by myself. 

I didn’t remember how it went.

It was a while after Lucien left, when I finally got the meagre strength and energy to get off the couch and wander to the ensuite where the bathtub awaited. A short time later when the water filled up to the brim, I shed my clothes and sank into the waters. 

But not before pulling open the last drawer on the right, the one with my brushes and hairdryer, where at the very back lay a rectangular brown box. One I hadn’t opened in two years. 

I remembered my fingers shaking. Clutching it for dear life. Sinking into the warm waters. 

Drawing the first cut, not caring that the past scarred ones lay beneath them, screaming at me to put the box cutter down. 

Everything after that was a blur. The water drained. I towelled myself down and put on some loose pants. Tamlin came home, released his wrath—another angry welt on my ribs, a glass shattering against the wall, shards that cut my hands as I picked them up, more words disgust and mistrust thrown my way. 

But I didn’t care. I didn’t have the will to care anymore.

***

I almost stayed home. It was so tempting to lie in bed, to be alone, away from him. But I didn’t trust myself to stay sane in this cramped apartment for another day. 

Tamlin kissed me deeply this morning as we were getting ready. It was full of remorse and apologies, I could tell by the way his fingers trailed gently down my cheek afterward as we stared at each other for a few long, quiet moments. I just hate that I flinched whenever his hands came near my face. 

In the car, his hand sat on my thigh. Biting my lip, I screamed curse words in my head, bracing against the pain that licked up my thighs. They were a distraction, something I could focus on. The city was drenched with rain, and I wrapped my arms around myself, clad in a thin long-sleeve sweater. Cuts. Bruises. So many ugly parts of me I needed to cover up.

The day passed as usual. Upon arrival, Ianthe barely looked at me, probably from awkwardness and discomfort after hearing yesterday’s spat between Tamlin and I. Not that it mattered, really. I hold myself in my office as usual, sorted through the email, snooped around files. There was nothing else for me to do. Remnants of the landline still remained scattered across the floor. I didn’t have the energy to pick them up. 

After lunch, I was scrolling through my nose when the elevator chimed. It wasn’t unusual—every now and then Tamlin had meetings with current or potential clients. But I had access to his schedule. He didn’t have an appointment at this time. 

I wandered out into the hallway only to see a frantic Lucien shouting at Tamlin’s office door. Ianthe was standing behind the desk, mouth open in shock, and Tamlin finally appeared from his office, blonde hair slipping from where he had it tied at the nape of his neck. His eyes immediately found mine, and they were relieved when he saw I was fine. 

“What’s going on?” I demanded Lucien with more force than I thought I had in me. “What is it?”

“Someone broke into your apartment. There’s a sniper reported in the area with eyes on your complex. The entire place is on lockdown and swarming with police.” 

_Rhys was right_ , was the first thought that clanged through me. The second was softer, fainter—fear. I hadn’t felt it in so long. 

Lucien, exasperated, said, “We’ve gotta go now, Tam.” Tamlin nodded his head and ran back into his office to get his coat and keys.

“I’ll go with you,” Ianthe piped in. 

Lucien reluctantly nodded then they both went for the elevator. I ran back to my office to fetch my purse and my phone, thinking this was definitely going to pre-occupy the rest of the day. Footsteps trudged down the hall until Tamlin was in the doorway, face hard and cold. 

“Let’s go,” I said and made to walk out the door. Instead I walked right into his chest, which didn’t move as I tried to make my way around him. His broad frame blocked me in completely, and my brows furrowed. 

“Tamlin, come on.”

“I need you to stay here.”

I blinked. His green eyes stared back into mine indifferently. “What?”

“You have to stay here. I can’t let you get hurt. Not again.”

“I’ll be fine. There’re police everywhere. They’re not going to let anyone hurt me. _You_ won’t let anyone hurt me.”

“I thought that was the case before. But you keep nearly slipping away from me every time.” His hand reached out, just like this morning, and his fingers traced the side of my cheek. “I can’t lose you, Feyre. Stay where it’s safe. You can go in my office if you want.”

Contained. Confined. Caged. Safe. They were synonymous to him. 

Trapped. Enclosed. Imprisoned. That’s how it felt, how the rest of my life would feel if I listened to this man for another minute.

“ _No_.”

He turned for a moment, his feet ready to lead me to his office, and I took my opportunity to slip past him. 

“Feyre—” he growled, hands frantically trying to grab onto me, but I tore away from his clutch and sprinted to the elevator. I needed to get out, I needed to get away, to run away—

The distance between the elevator and I closed, and I crashed into it, pressing the button repeatedly until the doors wrenched open. Gasping, I flung myself across the threshold—

He was stronger. Faster. He always was. 

Hands gripped around my bruised wrist and I cried out as Tamlin pulled. Hard. 

The ground slammed beneath me as I landed on my back, staring up at the doors that teased, open before me like a gateway to heaven. I dug my feet into the ground, trying with all my withered strength, all my might to resist. I screamed, struggling against him, trying to hit him with my other hand, but he grabbed that one just as quickly. 

He dragged me back to the office. The carpet burned beneath me, and I shouted in pain as my thighs alit with the fire of the swollen cuts. Writhing and contorting were of no use, his grip was like iron as he let out a final grunt and I found myself back in my office. His hands dropped me and my head slammed into the floor once more. Stars scattered in my vision.

“Please,” I sobbed.

I felt him lean down in front of me and whisper, “I’m doing this for you. For us.”

He took two steps back, a dark shadow hovering in the dimming light of the doorway. 

“ _Please_.”

The door slammed shut behind him, with only the sound of a key and the lock sliding smoothly into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Feelings? I want to hear all of them. Drop those comments down below.   
> I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. I really wanted to make this chapter perfect because of how vital it is to the story, and as always, school/life/work tends to get in the way.   
> The next chapter will be up sooner, probably by the weekend, because I've already written a good chunk of it. Hopefully you can hold on until then :)  
> As always, your continuous support warms my heart. All of your comments make my day and are so very appreciated!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (@illyrianwingspans on tumblr)


	14. Love More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Spring Corp.
> 
> Song of the chapter: Love More by Sharon von Etten  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JdVrgJ5r2o
> 
> I really recommend listening to this song for the chapter. It really just hits different.
> 
> TW: Dark thoughts, mentions of abuse.

**_ Chapter 14: Love More _ **

Locked me in. 

_He locked me in._

I could still hear his footsteps in the hallway meandering towards the elevator. 

“Tamlin!” I yelled, voice cracking beneath the weight of the immensity of what he'd done. Outside, beyond the door which I was pressed upon, the chime of the elevator sounded. More footsteps, another chime. 

Then silence. 

Trapped. 

I was—

The breath escaped my lungs as I stared back at the four corners of the office. Just like in that car, where I'd been stuck for hours amidst the blood, shattered glass and concrete—

A scream tore from me. My hands, peppered with cuts from the night before, reached for the closet door handle. No matter which way or the other I turned it, it remained stubbornly shut, unwilling to submit to my insane efforts. That doesn't mean I stopped trying. 

Fingernails, frail and brittle, cracked beneath the metal. Blood was trickling down my hands from the torn cuts, just like the ones on my thighs—

He did this to me. _He did this to me_. 

I stood up, unwilling to admit defeat, unwilling to believe that my fate had been sealed in an executive floor's janitorial closet. With all the force and adrenaline in me, I slammed myself against the wooden door. After a few fruitless tries, I gave up and finally looked to my chair, picked it up, struggling for a few moments with its awkward weight, then threw it against the door. 

It didn't budge. Not a single bit. 

No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I was trapped. 

His pet. His supposed obedient wife, forced to keep quiet. Stay in line. 

I'd done everything for him. My hands had bled more times than I could count in the name of our love. But here I still was, fighting tooth and nail for everything I was. 

Which wasn't much, because he'd diminished me to nothing. 

He made sure that I was nothing without him. 

I shook with the burden of the realization. Like an earth quake, my fault lines trembled, and everything came crashing down. 

I screamed. 

I let go of everything I'd kept trapped for the last 2 years. I released myself, so wholly and completely until my voice was hoarse and my fingers were numb from clawing, banging at the door, trying to break free, hoping to any god listening to me that a miracle would occur. When I couldn't bare it anymore, I slumped against the wall, slid down until I met the cold tile floor. Something material like blocked my way, though, and through the mess and blur of tears, I looked over and saw—

My purse. 

Like a starved wild animal, I lunged for it, rifling around it until my fingers wrapped around my cellphone. 

My eyes closed. I sobbed for a few seconds, clutching it to my chest. 

Further within one of the side pockets, a piece of paper, crumpled from being crammed against lip balm and tissues, held my only reprieve. 

I punched the number as quickly as I could. 

On the third ring, a gentle, familiar voice answered full of concern, “Feyre?”

“Alis,” I choked, bracing myself against the cement wall, “help. Oh God, please, please—”

“Where are you?” Her voice had no room for sympathy or pain. Only cold, calculating calm. I could hear her high heels clicking 

“The executive floor. He's gone. He locked—” I choked on a sob, fresh tears streaming down my face I wiped away immediately. “He locked me in my office.”

“I’m coming right up.” Her voice was filled with urgency. Relief swept over me once I realized it wouldn’t be much longer until I was free. Until I could finally walk away from here for good. 

“Stay on the phone, Feyre. Breathe. Big deep breaths.”

A breath rattled through me, shaking, but still enough to wash me with some sense of calm amidst the turbulent chaos. “Good. That’s good. Another one. Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” I let out with my exhale. 

“Where? What did he do?”

“Um, my,” I hiccuped and wiped at the mucus collecting on my nose, “my head and he dragged me so my arms too—”

In the hallways, I could hear the chiming of the elevator. I sobbed with relief, and not caring that there was blood all over my hands—probably all over my face—not caring that nausea swept through me or that the room felt like it was spinning. I just needed to get out of here. I just needed to get away from him. 

The line went dead. Distantly from the hallway I heard, “Feyre? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” I croaked, voice weak from sobbing, “I’m here!”

Footsteps thundered down the hallway until they were just outside the door. I kneeled before it, still unable to stand, hands clutching the bloody doorknob. 

“Let me out,” I pleaded, “ _let me out._ ”

“Fuck,” I heard from outside. “No!”

“What is it?” The door made her voice distant, muffled. 

Frantically, desperately she cried, “It isn’t a slide?”

“What?”

“I need a key. I don’t—” A sharp intake of breath. This time, when she spoke, I could hear her desperation creeping through. “I don’t have a fucking key!”

“No,” I moaned, sobs contorting my body once more “no, no, no you have to let me out—”

“I’m gonna call the police,” she swore and I heard her dialling from beyond. My eyes widened with panic and I could feel my stomach bottoming out. 

“No. You can’t. Alis, I need to leave him. He can’t find me. If the police is involved, he’ll get out of it and he’ll find it—”

“Feyre, you’re not making sense.”

“Alis, if you care about me, you won’t call the police, because I will end up right back here. Please.”

Silence. The walls were closing in. I needed to think, I needed to—

“Rhys,” I choked out, “Call Rhys.” There was nobody else I trusted, nobody else I knew that would help me—truly help me—right now. 

“What’s his number?”

I read it out to her, and Alis began frantically speaking into the phone, but at that point I couldn’t even listen anymore. There was nothing else to focus on but the tight quarters around me pressing down, the fact that the love of my life, the person I trusted more than anything could _do_ this to me—

Outside the door I heard footsteps fading away. Panic seized me, and I cried out, “Don’t leave me!”

Alis came back and said assuringly, “It’s okay, Feyre I’ll be right back. I need to buzz them in from downstairs.”

“No, please, please don’t—” I begged, but she left. 

Left, like everyone else in my life had. 

Not knowing how or why, I backed myself into the far corner of the room and hunched my legs up to my chest, then covered my head with my arms. Everything hurt. I was a pulsing, throbbing organism of pain, my mind reeling with the madness threatening to consume me whole. 

“Let me out,” I whispered under my breath, the only anchoring lifeline I could hold onto. “ _Let me out. Let me out. Let met out…_ ”

All the while, flashes of images circulated through my head. 

First meeting Tamlin out on the greens of the university. He’d run into me full force, and we nearly got into a screaming match—my friend had to haul me away from him. Little did I know he was the guest lecturer for my intro to business class, and I was sitting in the front row. 

The charm in his smile when he asked for my number. That despite our first impressions, he told me he had to stop himself from staring at me the entire lecture. 

All the dates, the flowers, the nights we spent together wrapped up in an embrace, wrapped up within each other. He gave me everything. 

And he didn’t care that I lived on the south side. He didn’t care that it was nearly a half hour commute to each other’s places, and whenever we were at mine we never stayed for too long. He didn’t care that my bedroom could barely fit more than a single bed, or that my sisters and father were either never home or in a bitter mood. 

Then the accident happened. And everything changed. 

He asked me to move in with him. I said yes, because I didn’t know what else to say—I was in shock. I was devastated. A part of me died that night, stuck beneath the overturned car. But whatever else was left of me, I gave to him. I loved him. Wholly and completely. 

Eventually, he also swayed me to drop out of school. I wasn’t doing well—I was on academic probation—and an art major, business minor degree wouldn’t do me much anyways, so what was the point? I could work. I could live with him, and I didn’t need to worry about money. Not like I used to. So I got the job at Hum’s. And for a while I was so happy. Until I wasn’t. 

Until the dull threat of life spent in ease, comfort, without purpose loomed before me and I began to lose myself. Until I began to feel stifled within my own home, my own skin. 

Until I found the box of pills. Until I fired those four rounds and bodies dropped to the floor. 

Until Tamlin first put his hands on me, and siphoned the rest of my being through the very touch I thought had healed me. 

And now, hunched over in the office, I mourned my life, because I knew there was nothing left after this. Nowhere else to go. I was done. Finished. 

_Let me out. Let me out. Let me out._

A loud crash sounded from the corridor. I didn’t even look up. I just curled further in on myself, whispering, wishing it could just be over with here and now. 

Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. 

Light flooded through the space, but I didn’t look up. There were voices shouting at me—I knew those voices. I knew these people. They couldn’t touch me, though—I was dirty. Blood stained my hands, my clothes, everything. 

I nearly protested as warm, calloused hands took mine and peeled them away from where they clutched the back of my head. Slowly, a face came into view, and Cassian’s shattered gaze met mine. 

“Come on, Feyre,” he coaxed gently, “I’ve got you.”

Carefully, awkwardly, I wrapped my arms around him, and he manoeuvred me so that his elbow sat in the bend of my knees, his other at the small of my back. Then I was being lifted, up, up—

At the familiar scent, familiar embrace, I burrowed into Cassian’s chest, stifling my sobs into the crook of his shoulder. 

“Her purse,” Alis’s voice said. Cassian’s arm shifted to take it in his hand, “and her coat. Where are you taking—”

“Somewhere safe. She’ll be alright, I promise.” Cassian’s voice was cold and deep as he spoke to the woman. 

“Okay.” Alis sighed. I felt her hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t have the strength to look up from where my face was hidden. “Take care of yourself, Feyre.”

We began to move, and more light met me—I was out. Finally out. 

“Hit P2, it will take you right down to the lot. I locked the elevator doors temporarily so no one can get on.”

“Thank you,” Cassian rumbled. 

The whoosh of the elevator door was the only warning I had before we descended. I was shaking, and I was so, so cold—

Cassian held me tighter against him. He murmured softly, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Feyre.”

The doors opened some time later, and the damp, cement smell let me know we'd taken the elevator straight to the parking garage. A car door opened, echoing across the wide space, and Cassian quickly manoeuvred me into the SUV's back seat. I finally opened my eyes, only to see another familiar face before me. 

I wept at the sight of Rhysand, and his gaze was one of pure and utter anguish. Anguish, and the threat of a thousand burning fires glowing in his eyes, most likely for the man who put me in this position in the first place.

Rhys looked past me and said to Cassian, still braced against the side door of the SUV, “Azriel’s behind us. I need you to go with him and surveil their apartment.”

“Got it,” Cassian nodded, and before leaving, stretched his fingers out to gently squeeze my shoulder. Without another word, the door shut, and the driver hit the gas. When I saw a flash of blonde hair, I knew it was Mor who floored the pedal, tires screeching beneath us as we exited the parking garage. 

I looked out the back window, watching as Spring Corporations building grew further and further away. 

I left. I actually…I actually _left_. 

Without anything but the clothes on my back, the purse Cassian had slumped at my feet, and a few hundred dollars to my name. 

He was right. I was nothing. Without him, I was nothing. 

My attention turned back to Rhys, who was still watching me intently. I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but it came out in a sob. 

“You’re free,” Rhys said, hands reaching up to cup my cheeks. The sincerity, the gentle determination in his eyes made me believe him. “You got out. You’re free.”

I collapsed into him, and Rhys held me against his chest as I wept with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update just to keep y'all satisfied. I know this fic so far has been really dark and angsty, but I promise my only goal is not to simply torture my babes!! Things will get better, but for now and the next few chapters they will be dark and angsty. Hope y'all are still enjoying this :)  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (illyrianwingspans on tumblr)


	15. Love is Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre wakes up in an unfamiliar place. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Love is Not Enough by Wet  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRHySJl4u9o
> 
> TW: Mentions of self-harm, domestic abuse and psychological trauma/abuse.

**_ Chapter 14: Love is Not Enough _ **

When I woke up, it felt like I was underwater. Still breathing, still seeing, still hearing everything around me…but distorted. Distant. The bed felt unfamiliar beneath me, and I realized I had no recollection of where I was, how I got here, whose scent was on these sheets—

I started in the bed, panic squeezing my heart as I sat straight up. The room was completely unfamiliar with its limited decor, dark walls and large window overlooking the city. Where we’d gone, I had no clue; I’d passed out shortly after in the car, curled into Rhys amidst my self-destruction. 

Tamlin. 

His name swept through me, and that pain was back in my chest, blooming from the dark seeds of sorrow, anguish and resentment I’d been burying down within me for months. The look on his face, the lethal sense of ownership and control he’d displayed—

Shock settled within me like a weighted stone. I left him. I couldn’t believe that I’d finally left him. 

And here I was, in this room completely unfamiliar to me, with nothing but the clothes on my back, and my purse sitting idly in the corner on a chair.

I stared down at my body. The bruises lining my arms. I touched my hair, which was still matted in blood, and sighed as I remembered my head slamming against the ground. 

And the cuts. Lining my thighs. The box-cutter glimmering with blood while I’d wreaked havoc upon myself. 

I was completely destroyed, and completely alone. 

Voices and conversation filtered in through the hall. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I realized I had no idea where I was, how I got here or who was out there. Tentatively, I wandered to the edge of the bed and stood on shaking legs. A pile of clothes stood at the edge of the bed, a sweater and sweatpants, and I blocked out the image of who it may have been that changed me into this shirt. At least my undergarments were mine and had been unchanged. Nonetheless, heat covered my cheeks as I realized whomever it was that put me here had seen the bruises. And the cuts. 

Gods. They probably thought I was a crazed animal. I had to prepare myself for more stares, more pity, all the embarrassment that’d clouded me two years ago…

The clothes were large, and smelled like fresh laundry. I donned them and took a deep breath before opening the door and wandering to the hallway. 

The apartment I found myself in was spacious. It was a loft, and based on the view of the city, the rent must’ve cost whomever it was a pretty penny. At the top of the stairs I could see three people in the kitchen, backs to me, discussing quietly at the island bar stools. They turned around as I was halfway down the stairs, and I swallowed hard, pausing in my tracks, as Cassian, Mor and Rhys met my gaze. 

It was so quiet. In the room, in my head, across the city. Only the sound of my footsteps as I touched down on the landing. 

I couldn’t take it anymore. Voice cracking, I asked, “Where are we?”

Cassian braced himself against the counter, face hard. “My place.” His eyes studied my face from across the room. “You should eat something, Feyre.”

I nodded absentmindedly, feeling the hunger gnawing distantly at my stomach, then wandered over to where they were and took a seat. Nobody said anything as Cassian went to the fridge and took out a plastic wrapped plate and set a sandwich before me. Without thinking I picked it up and took a big bite.

The relief on Rhys’s face shined. After swallowing a bite, I looked to the three of them who were still watching me silently, then said, “Tell me everything.”

Cassian looked to Rhys, who nodded, then said, “We'd been tapped into your apartment's mainframe for a while. We wanted to surveil it, make sure there weren't any unwarranted intruders. I kept tabs on it all the time and made sure things were running smoothly, until I got the notification this morning that an unidentifiable external source tapped into it this morning.”

“The same people who'd been targeting me in the past?” I asked Rhys. 

“Yes and no. We don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I’d say that it’s probably them. Whoever it is has been extremely good at keeping themselves hidden.” 

Cassian nodded, then continued, “I triggered the elevator system so it would seem like somebody was going up to your floor. I wanted to see what their response would be. Five minutes later came the first bullet.”

“They _shot_ at the apartment?” The death sparkling in Rhys’s eyes was answer enough. 

“That’s when the police and Spring Corp were alerted. They must’ve thought it was you in the elevator. Just failed to notice that you didn’t actually walk into the building.”

I finished the rest of the sandwich, though it’d settled uneasily in my stomach with this new knowledge. I was being hunted. By possibly more than one person. 

How had I gotten dragged down so deep? How had I gone from a barista in a coffee shop to a fugitive on the run through a path ridden with bullets and secrecy?

"I need to wash. Get the blood..." I couldn't even finish the sentence, nor look any of them in the eyes. 

I flinched when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was too familiar to the one that’d yanked me from the elevator only hours earlier. Mor stood beside me, offering gently, “Do you want me to help set you up in the shower?”

“Yes please,” was all I could manage before sliding out of the bar stool. My feet took themselves over to the stairs, and there was muffled conversation behind me that I tuned out. Exhaustion swept over me in a second wave, threatening to drag me under right here, right now. But I needed to cleanse the day’s events off of my skin. 

Mor lead me to the upstairs bathroom where a robe and towels awaited me. She closed the door behind us. I couldn’t look when she locked the door. 

Her blonde curls were tied back, and her hands were careful as she set them on my shoulders and kneeled before me. She said, “Under this roof, you don’t have to be scared. You’re under no obligation to stay, but if you do, you’ll be well taken care of. There’s no need to feel ashamed or embarrassed. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I’ve been in a similar situation before.” She squeezed my shoulders, and I couldn’t blink away the tears in my eyes. “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

The knot in my chest loosened, if only a little. 

Then Mor looked to the side and said, “Feyre, you don’t have to say yes, but if in the future you want that bastard to pay for what he’s done to you, we can catch him. We just need the evidence.”

“Evidence?” I croaked. But as soon as I uttered the word, I realized what she meant. 

The evidence on my body, the prints of ichor my lover had left behind on my body. Ones I’d never forget nor forgive for as long as I lived. 

“You don’t have to do it.”

“No, I want to.” Even though the thought of displaying them made my stomach turn over. “Just do it.”

Quickly, I slid the sweater over my head, then the t-shirt and pants until I was just in my bra and underwear. Mor bit her lip, and darkness bloomed in the once-before sweet brown eyes. She pulled her phone out and began to snap. 

All along my forearms, bruises kissed the skin once porcelain, creamy beige. Along my ribs were welts, either from being slammed around or physical blows—I couldn’t remember exactly what he’d done last night after finding out about my conversation with Rhysand. The cuts on my hands from picking up the shattered glass, bloody, matted hair from the brutal impact against the cement floor. I hadn’t realized there were also bruises along my thighs and calves. 

Whether or not she chose to acknowledge them, the cuts on my thighs stood out starkly amongst everything else. Mor said nothing. I only shuddered silently as tears streamed down my face. 

“That’s everything.”

I sniffled and wiped at my nose, and distantly I heard the sound of water cascading in the shower. Mor went for the door, and before she exited I asked roughly, “Who was it that undressed me before?”

“Me,” she said, and I nodded with relief. 

The door closed behind her, and I wandered blankly over to the shower. Before stepping into the steam, I turned the lights off, and the world around me disappeared as I stood beneath the stream of hot water. 

***

Rhys

“She’s resting,” Mor said, and poured herself yet another coffee. It’d been a long day with all the extra-curricular dealings we had to take care of, not to mention the chaos that was already widespread across the office. I had to go back at some point, and I knew I wouldn’t see my bed for another eight hours at least, despite the sun already dipping below the horizon. 

I didn’t care. Sleep was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the relief of knowing that Feyre was safe, and away from that son of a bitch. 

For a second after I’d gotten the call from Alis, I wondered if I had enough time to do both: get to Feyre and beat the shit out of Tamlin Ivy, for what he’d done to Feyre, and all past scruples still laying amidst the crumpled ruins of friendship between us. Obviously I’d chosen Feyre first. 

But now after having seen firsthand exactly the damage that’d been dealt, I wished I could’ve landed at least one good punch. A permanent crooked nose would’ve been a lovely first compensation in the many I’d planned in my mind. 

“You’re still tracking the apartment?” I asked Cass. 

He nodded, lifting his eyes briefly from his laptop screen. His hand reached as well for a coffee cup, and I wondered if any of us planned to sleep tonight. “Az is still on-sight. The police are there but Tamlin was reported to have left a half hour ago with Lucien.”

I grunted, then gave in and made my way over to Cassian’s Nespresso machine to make myself a coffee as well. Sleep-deprivation was yet another bad habit I’d forced my body to live with. “What of Alis? The secretary?”

“She left shortly after we did. Hopefully she won’t take any blame, though I know that probably won’t be the case.”

“Knowing Tamlin, she’ll likely get fired. If not worse.”

“I could use an assistant,” Mor chimed in, not looking up from her laptop. She had files to update for tomorrow, and her fingernails clicked quickly over the keyboard. “I don’t want that asshole ruining another person’s livelihood.”

“We’ll keep the idea on standby, but it will definitely work.” I sighed. “And what about tomorrow?”

“I don’t know about Amren, but on my side you’ve got two potentials with Velaris at twelve and three, plus the board of directors for Night at nine.”

I cursed under my breath and pulled the coffee mug from beneath the spout, bringing it quickly to my lips and taking a long, bitter sip. Coffee never tasted the same when it wasn’t Feyre’s. 

“No way of pushing it off?”

Mor smiled mockingly. “You’ve pushed it off twice.”

“Cassian? Anything?”

“I know Azriel wanted to brief you at some point with everything that happened today, but I won’t be coming in tomorrow.”

“You’ll stay with her?” The nervous pit in my stomach disappeared, if only for a moment. That looming thought in the back of my ming that Feyre would be alone, stuck in an apartment once more, was assuaged by the notion she’d at least have a friend with her.

“Of course. I’m not leaving her alone right now.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back tomorrow night, if everything goes well.”

Looking down at my coffee, I realized I wouldn’t have time to sip it slowly, to maybe banter with my friends some more before heading back to the office.I stole a travel mug from Cassian’s cabinets and poured the contents into it. 

“I’ll see you both tomorrow. At some point.”

Mor snorted and began packing her things as well. Cassian looked up from his screen for a moment and locked eyes with me. 

“Rhys?” He said. 

“Yes?”

“Get that look off your face.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “What look?”

“Guilt. There’s nothing else you could’ve done.”

I took a deep breath, eyeing the room at the top of the stairway, and told myself that I wouldn’t be able to step out of this apartment unless I saw her, burned the image in my mind that she was okay. 

Quietly, I crept up the stairs, down the open hallways looking over the apartment, and slowly opened the door to Cassian’s guest bedroom. 

Her hair was still wet from her shower, leaving water stains across the navy pillow case, and it fell in a cascade of soft waves across her back. Glad in a grey sweater, she clutched the sheets around her, curled onto her side facing away from me, instead to the open window. Safe. Free. 

As I stared at Feyre, that same feeling resurfaced in my chest, and I wanted to sigh. 

But instead I closed the door silently behind me, and tried to convince myself that twenty four hours wasn’t very long at all. 

*

Feyre

The room was dark. I’d been so tired after my shower I’d forgotten to open the curtains, and I had to carefully push the air in and out of my lungs as to not spiral into another panic. I was fine. I was out. I was safe. 

When footsteps entered the room, I realized it was a knocking sound that’d jarred me from my sleep. I turned the light on. At the doorway stood Rhys, leaning against the wall, taking in my unkempt appearance. At least my hair was dry and clean, not matted in the furious tame as it was last night. We both watched each other for a few moments, both uncertain what to say. 

Finally, I licked my dry lips and asked, “Late night?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which had a few strands dangling across his forehead. It was the most he’d let his composure and appearance slip in front of me. “Something like that.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t? And the fallout that I caused?”

He shook his hand and pushed off the wall until he was seated at my side on the bed. I turned over so that I was facing him, his features glowing softly in the dim lamp’s light. “There are a lot of things wrong right now, Feyre,” he murmured, his eyes scanning my face, “but you are not one of them.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t why I said it. Maybe because there would be no way to ever pay Rhys back for what’d he’d done for me. The sacrifices he made, the target he’d put on his back—whether he knew it or not—and everything else in-between. The kind smiles and words, when I’d been so utterly abhorrent to him…

“You don’t have to apologize. You never have to apologize to me.” His hand trailed gently up to my shoulder, warm, calloused and comforting. His other fingers gently reached over to pull stray strands away from where they’d fallen onto my face. “Besides, now that you’re here, you’ve played right into my master plan.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “Master plan?”

“Well, of course. I never do anything without my own agenda.” He winked and I rolled my eyes. “Now I’ve got all the time in the world to annoy you, and I’ve got a new personal assistant to help me out at the office.”

“You hired somebody?” I wondered. It was about time. They were all overworked, the whole lot of them—and it’s not like they were missing the necessary funds to pay an extra salary. 

“Not yet. The person’s a little under the weather right now, but I think she should be ready for an interview at the end of the week.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Oh,” I said, finally clicking. He wanted—he wanted to hire _me_? All I could think about was the disastrous job I’d done at Spring Corp, how frustrated Ianthe had been trying to work with me. I absolutely did not want a repeat of that. 

I nearly told him as much, but he cut me off by saying, “We’ll start you off slowly, with basics. Only half-days to start until you’re back on your feet and ready to go. If you don’t want the job, by all means, we’ll try and help you find something else. I just don’t want you to end up back where we started. Okay?”

The concern, the dedication—it never failed to make my heart squeeze with gratitude. 

“Thank you,” I said. What I didn’t voice were the whispers in the back of my head spewing how I truly felt, how tortured my soul was—

_You won’t make it to the end of the week. He’ll find you. This won’t last. You’ll go back._

Rhys stepped out after one last squeeze of my shoulder, and I was in the darkness once more. 

I didn’t get up to open the curtains, instead let the stifling darkness crush me completely.

***

Everything was fuzzy, and my throat was dry. Though my stomach rumbled, the thought of food subsided the hunger as nausea loomed over like a fanged beast, ready to sink its teeth into me. 

The week had gone by too quickly, and all I’d done was sleep. I only got up to eat whatever left-overs Cassian had, or relieve myself. The most eventful day of my week was when I finally got up to take a shower, but even that had been so exhausting that I passed out as soon as my head met the pillow. 

Every now and then, people would drop in. Rhys came by every night, and sometimes we’d talk quietly, sometimes he would speak about his day and I would listen silently, unable to reply. 

Though I’d left him, though the danger was gone, I just felt so…empty. What was I supposed to do with myself? Tamlin had always been there to guide me towards a path, a goal, to centre me. He’d always helped with my decisions. And now that he was out of the picture, I had no idea what I wanted, or how to get it. It was like being stuck in limbo: dead if I’m with him, as good as dead if I’m not. 

Apathy, I’d decided, was worse than agony. At least I could feel _something_. But now, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and looked out the window where thundering skies lay beyond, it was like I was a living ghost. I couldn’t feel anything at all. 

The note on the nightstand let me know that Cassian had an emergency at the office and wouldn’t be back before nighttime. It was the first time all week that I was truly alone in the apartment, as I’d been too many times before in the past four months. Deciding it was probably time to eat something, I ventured into Cassian’s kitchen and snooped around his fridge until I settled on making a peanut butter and jam sandwich. Everything else made me feel nauseous. 

As I ate there, sitting at the counter, I wondered how everything would play out. Would I even like the job at Night Industries? Could I really see myself doing that for the rest of my life? The people around me taking care of me, how could I ever pay them back? Did they even _like_ me? Or were they just doing this because Rhys had asked them to? 

All I was doing was dragging them down. I was burden, to myself, to all of them. 

My thoughts were jarred by voices, and a muffled sounds beyond the condo’s door. My brows furrowed, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

There was a loud knock at the door. I paused mid-bite, thinking it might’ve just been the wrong address, or that maybe it was one of Cassian’s friends, or the Inner Circle—they didn’t have a key. Someone was just checking in on me. 

_It’s him, he found you, it’s him, he found you—_

I shut up the stupid voices in my head. I was safe here. There was no way that Tamlin could’ve tracked me down, no way in hell that he’d root through databases and internet searches to find Cassian’s condo address.

_ Except that that was exactly what Tamlin would do. _

The knock sounded again, a solid banging at the door, and the world felt like it was crumbling underneath me. 

I had to see who it was. I needed to, couldn’t let my fear and terror make me surrender once more. 

The tendons in my ankles strained as I tiptoed to the door as quietly as possible against the wooden floors. I was grateful in that moment for having lost so much weight: I moved so silently that even the floorboards dared not creak beneath me. With every step closer to the door, the more the anxiety in my chest amplified like a spreading wildfire in the dry summer heat. Sweat dripped down my back. 

I was three feet away from the door when the hammering sounded once more. It caught me by surprise, and I jumped. 

“Night?” Tamlin growled. “I swear to fuck, you better open this door right now.”

Never. He would never leave me alone, no matter where I went, no matter what I did. 

This, right here, right now, was a portrait of the rest of my life. Living in fear. Cowering, defenceless, waiting for the next moment he’d strike. 

“Feyre?” The yell tore from his voice, but it grew softer, more desperate. “I know you’re in there. Please. Let me in. I just want to talk.”

Words like roses, pretty red roses, all wrapped in a bouquet. Given to me one by one, I’d basked in their beauty, their glorious scent, unable to see that my hands bled from the prick of their thorns. 

Slowly, I sank to the ground, and sat there, waiting. I could hear the sounds of his muffled breathing. Would he break down the door? Would he storm through this place and rip me away once again?

Like I was no more than a dog waiting to be called upon. 

A second, familiar voice seethed, “Nobody’s home, Tam. Let’s go.” Lucien. Even after everything, he was still following him around, his right hand man. Little did he know how stained Tamlin’s hands were. 

“No, I heard something. She’s in there, I know it.”

“Just leave it. We’ll come back tomorrow, we’ll tell the police.”

My eyes squeezed shut. Drops of water fell onto the backs of my hands, the only indicator that told me I was crying. He’d involved the police. They thought I was missing, kidnapped, he probably had a fucking missing person’s report. 

Silence ensued, then the sound of footsteps, retreating. Marching away. 

I kneeled there on the floor, holding my breath, for minutes. Maybe even an hour. The sound of his growling voice just couldn’t leave my mind. 

Never. He’d never rest until I was back at his side, his obedient, taciturn little wife. 

I finally looked up, and rose from where I’d been seated. There was no other way out. In this labyrinth of pain and misery, there was no other way out. 

My face turned to the soft showers and the grey, misted view of the city below me, before I knew it, my feet carried me to where they knew I needed to be. 

Nothing. There was nothing left, inside me, around me—it was all gone. I was done. Whatever hope I may have clung to finally sputtered out and died. Tamlin had made sure that—twisted the knife in its gut. All I was left with was the city scape below me and the cement ledge beneath my palms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's been a while.   
> College isn't being too friendly at the moment, and my schedule is so busy with work and school, but I'm trying my best to stay on task with writing! It's been really difficult to write this, especially because it's such a heavy fic and I'm proud to say that I'm not in a dark mind-set at the moment. Fear not, though I know this has been FULL of angst and sadness, there is hope brimming on the horizon! (Well, not in this chapter, not for the next two, but I swear there is!) I don't want to torture Feyre and the gang any longer, though it has been very fun to write this, darkness and all.   
> Also, Rhys's POV made an appearance! How do we feel about this? Halfway through I kind of decided that his POV would actually be super useful and will probably sprinkle him in every now and then. Do you want more Rhys? Or should I stick mainly to Feyre? Let me know in the comments.   
> Your wonderful responses have really kept me going through this writing process, and believe me, this fic is far from over. Many more chapters to come! (Though I can not guarantee they'll be quick)  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	16. listen before i go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you know this song, you know how Feyre's feeling right now. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: listen before i go by Billie Eilish  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4z1O3miesI
> 
> TW: Suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation and suicidal intentions. Please, if you are suicidal or aren't comfortable reading these situations, do not read this chapter.  
> You are never alone. You are loved, and you are cared for.  
> Here are some helplines if you are ever feeling suicidal (both available 24/7/365): 
> 
> US: 1-800-273-8255 Suicide Crisis Hotline  
> Canada: 1-833-456-4566 Suicide Prevention and Support Canada

_**Chapter 15: listen before i go** _

Rhys

Prythian, I’d decided, was beautiful no matter the weather. Sun, rain, snow—I loved it all. The Sidra glowed, unaware of the downpour surrounding it as I cruised down the city’s main artery street, parallel to the river where people walked lazily beside the careening stream. Though the rain and overcast skies usually chased many into their homes, today had been warmer than previous weeks, and my legs ached to be back out on the path for a quick jog, like I used to do every morning. Life and work had seemed to cut into every waking moment, including the time I dedicated to exercise—it’d shown in my body composition. Eating like shit also didn’t help, but my current levels of stress always begged me to break into a bag of chips or eat the office cupcakes that were brought up to the executive floor every few days. I needed to get back to the gym, to get exercising, but any time not spent working or helping Feyre seemed wasteful and selfish.

It tore at me.  Watching her every night, she seemed so lifeless laying in that bed. 

I knew what that felt like, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. Well, maybe a certain blonde brute. But even at that, physical pain and sorrow inflicted by others was nothing compared to the misery of your own mind. And seeing her so pale, thin and tired-

A piece of me broke every time I walked out of that condo, knowing she was feeling this way.

I didn't want to push her, didn't want to make her do anything that made her feel uncomfortable, but it killed me to see her so devastated. I did everything I could to try to get her to laugh, smile, something--but every night, she grew more and more distant. I could see it in the way her eyes seemed clouded over. 

Nonetheless, I tried. I tried because I knew she needed somebody, something, anything right now. And I'd do it over and over again if it meant that I made her feel even an ounce better. 

Cassian had to stay later this afternoon, and probably further into the evening because of an issue that arose with the security team. Some of our agents had grown restless in the recent absence of management since Cassian was spending so much time tracking Tamlin and Lucien instead of his usual dealings. He held an emergency meeting to address their questions and concerns, which would probably extend far longer than needed. I didn’t want to leave Feyre alone, and besides, I thought it I’d spent enough damn time in that stupid office chair this week to deserve a night of quiet peace. 

The condo complex, though tall and large in its occupancy, was perfect for Cassian. Spacious, enough for him and his entire ego to fit into, but minimalist in the sense that he had only the bare necessities: place to sleep, eat and shower. Nothing compared to Mor’s complex that offered an indoor gym, rooftop pool and meal plan services from a five-star chef. But my cousin deserved every morsel of glamour and luxury she wanted after the life she’d come from. 

The elevator opened onto Cassian’s floor, and my heart leapt up into my chest when I saw his door at the end of the corridor. I hated the feeling in my chest, the one that kept pounding at me whenever I knew I was near her. It was sickening, the emotions stirring up within me—I could barely harness them in whenever she was in close proximity. The fluttering, the pounding of my heart, they were dangerous. So very dangerous, and all I could do was force them down as best as I could as I pulled my keys out and opened the condo door. 

“Feyre?” I called out after shutting the door quietly behind me and locking it. 

Silence was all I was met with. 

The lights in the kitchen were on, and as I slipped out of my shoes, wandering further into the house, so were the lights in her room. Quickly, I bounded up the steps to see where she might’ve been, but a quick examination of the guest room told me she wasn’t there. The bathroom was vacant. Cassian’s door was closed, lights off. 

Unease spread within me. She wouldn’t have left. I didn’t think she would, anyway, unless she’d gone out with Cassian this morning without telling me. My fingers crept into my pocket and grabbed my phone, ready to call my brother as panic began to rise. I pounded down the stairs and did a once-over of the living space to confirm that she was gone. 

I would’ve seen the slender figure, draped in a dark sweater, on the balcony if today were sunny. If whatever mysterious forces that controlled the weather had woken up this morning and decided to bathe my world in sunshine, I would’ve seen Feyre immediately, sitting on the ledge of the balcony looking down at the city below her. 

Waiting. For what, I didn’t know. But she was waiting, and the way her shoulders were slumped, the way she seemed like Atlas himself with the weight of the world on her back, told me that there was only one reason.

I’d never known fear like this as I realized she was about to jump. 

My feet moved slowly. Too slowly, as if they weren’t sure if this was another one of my fucked-up nightmares, or that she was indeed sitting there, ready to leap at any moment. 

I slid open the patio door. Rain fell on my face, the droplets wetting my lips. 

“Feyre?”

Her fingers curled tighter around the cement lip she clutched. Her knuckles were white, her clothes soaked, but she didn’t turn. Her gaze remained fixed on the ground below her. 

“You really shouldn’t scare someone sitting on a ledge fifty storeys up.”

Some sick part of me wanted to laugh. Because I knew exactly what that dry, fucked-up cynical humour was. The one born of a darkness so deep there was no way to express it but with self-deprecation. 

Heart pounding furiously across my body, I forced myself to focus, to think straight. If she pushed off too quickly, I wouldn't be able to grab hold of her. If I got too close, she'd get scared and do it anyway. “What are you doing, Feyre?”

She scoffed. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Only if it helps you,” I replied, trying to keep the cool, nonchalant tone to my voice. If I panicked, then she would panic and do something stupid, which I could never let happen. 

“Tell me what you're feeling right now. I want to try and help you.”

_Please_ , I whispered over and over in my mind, sweat pouring down my back, _please don't do this. Please don't leave me. Please don't do this to me._

Feyre

Over and over, I asked myself how I got here. How at this moment, everything had gone so drastically wrong that I was sitting up here on a roof, waiting for the moment to push off.

But I knew how I got here. I knew every curve and crevice of my life's story, every twist and malicious turn it'd taken to make my path so gloriously fucked up. 

Admitting failure is the most difficult of them all because you simply aren't enough. Your efforts, your time, energy and passion are all for naught, and you're left with nothing but this big ... void. 

It's hard to describe how that feeling comes and goes. I've called it failure to thrive. The person I've become was just... not enough, to keep going. 

“Tell what you’re feeling right now. I want to try and help you.”

_Help me._ Was there anything at this point that could help me? Fix me? Or was this ledge, this fall, all I had left?

Slowly, carefully, I let out a shaky exhale. The wind and rain whipped at my face, but I couldn’t pull my hand away from the ledge, lest I wanted to lose my balance and have it all end right then and there. The look down should've sent my stomach reeling with fear. 

But I felt nothing at all. Not anymore. I hadn't felt anything in a long, long time. 

“I…” A gust of wind flew over, making me clutch the ledge tighter, “I don’t feel anything anymore, Rhys. It’s like I’m already gone.”

“Why do you say that?”

A sob bubbled up within my chest. I pushed it down, took another quick, shallow breath. “There’s nothing left for me, here. My life’s over. Whatever’s left of it, anyway.”

“Feyre, you just went through an extremely traumatic experience. It’s completely normal to feel this way. That doesn’t mean your life is over. Just because you left him doesn’t mean your life is over.”

“He came back today, Rhys, while you were gone. Him and Lucien. They know where I am, they know how to find me.” I let out a small, mad laugh. “He’ll never stop. Not until I’m right back where I was, dying slowly before my very eyes. May as well finish the job while I can, right?”

“He was here? At the condo?”

I nodded, slowly. Unfeeling. The cold seeped into my bones, through my clothes, but I couldn’t even feel that anymore. It was like my body had already died and all the warmth leeched from my flesh. 

“Did you speak with him?”

“No. I just heard him through the door. He knows I’m here. How he found me…” I shook my head. “I don’t know. But it’s not going to change, Rhys. I am stuck in this forever.”

“You’re never stuck. You’re never trapped. There’s always another way out, you’re just not thinking clearly right now.” I could hear his voice getting closer, and it made my muscles clench tighter. Too close and it would be over. “Feyre, you’re too focused in on the situation. Everything is happening so quickly, and you’ve barely had time to recover. You need to zoom out. Focus on the bigger picture.”

“I don’t think you understand, Rhys,” I countered quietly, and I didn’t care that my voice began to waver, I didn’t care that there were tears blending in with the raindrops on my cheeks, and I didn’t care that if I pushed off this fucking building that everything would be over. Death beckoned to me fifty storeys down, and I was ready for it.

My voice was riddled with uncertainty and nervousness, but I shakily said, “I, um, read this thing once in a book. How your life gets to a point where it’s all too much, and you…” I swallowed, throat dry, eyes wide, “you don’t know what to do? It’s like being an apartment building, high up in the sky, and everything’s on fire. It’s blocking your door, your only exit. The only other viable option is to jump down and hope you survive.

“You’re standing there, staring at the flames,” I said, voice trembling, “and you’re trying to weigh which is worse: the flames or the fall?”

Rhys remained quiet behind me. I took another deep breath. 

“The flames or the fall?” I repeated. “It’s not that I want to jump down. It’s that I’m so terrified of the flames that I don’t know what to do. And you’ll never understand that, Rhys, until you’ve seen the flames. Until you’ve felt how they burn. Only when you’ve felt that pure terror that I am feeling right now will you ever understand why I need to do this.”

“Feyre,” Rhys wondered, his voice too close for comfort, “why did you hold on for so long?”

“What?”

“During everything that you went through, all that’s happened over the course of your life, why did you hold on?”

My mind reeled while trying to find a viable answer, a possible counter-argument, but all I was left with was the cold, whipping wind tearing at my clothes. 

I said quietly, “Because I thought eventually something would change. That it would get better.”

“What happened this time? What’s happening right now?”

As more rain poured down upon me, my eyes closed, my shoulders slumped after being clenched for so long.

“I’ve been holding on to scraps of hope my entire life. Every day it just seems to be getting worse and worse, like I’m stuck in this constant never-ending cycle of misery. I can’t—“ I choked on a sharp intake of breath as my heart began to pound louder in my chest, and my lungs heaved with the burden of being alive, “I can’t feel anymore, Rhys. I don’t feel anything, I destroy everything that surrounds me, and I’m—” my voice broke, and I choked out a sob, composure finally crumbling after days of emptiness.

Darkness reigned around my mind; around my heart. For so long there’d been that sliver of light to keep guiding me forward, like the doors sealing me shut in my prison were cleaved just the slightest bit to keep me going.

Now they’d shut in on me completely. Teasing me, leading me along, making me sacrifice my flesh and blood and tears, in the hope that that stupid fucking light would some day welcome me home. 

But that day never came. And now…

“I’m just so tired.”

My head dipped forward, and for a second, I let go.

But I knew there was a warm presence just behind me, fingers clutching my body before it had the chance to fall. 

“I know,” Rhys assured me, “I know, darling.”

Then his arms wrapped around my waist, and I didn’t protest as he gently carried me off the concrete ledge, and pulled me into his arms.

*

We both got out of our drenched clothes. There was a trail of water leading from the patio up to both bedrooms that Rhys was currently wiping down with a towel. His hair was unkempt and shaggy, dangling around his head, and through the loose grey t-shirt he borrowed from Cassian, I could see the movement of every muscle in his back and arms. 

The adrenaline had faded, and I was back to that numbness, that apathy, that stuck to me like a second skin. 

Once Rhys finally got all the water, right to both bedroom doors, he tossed it in the bathroom and closed the door. 

We both stood there in the dimly lit hallway, staring at each other. I couldn’t read his face: not since we’d gotten in from the balcony. It was completely neutral, his lips and mouth forming a flat line. But his eyes gave him away, with the way they scanned my face in an unmistakably pained, concerned manner. 

“Let’s go for a drive, Feyre. Get out of the house for a bit.”

The offer surprised me, and though my bed sounded mighty appealing right now, I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to get as far away from that entire sequence of events as I possibly could. 

Prythian was dark tonight, and clouds hung low with only the bright city lights shining through them, creating a silvery mist shimmering over the skyline. I leaned my head against the window, looking out to the Sidra ever flowing with its golden gleam. Rhys was quiet, and soft music played in the car that thrummed quietly through the slowly emptying streets. The closer we got to Spring Corp, though, the more the knot in my chest tightened once more. Rhys, ever the perceptive person he was, noticed and began taking alternative streets. 

Breaking the silence, he said, “You can stay at my place if you want, Feyre. When we get back, we’ll pack your stuff up if you’re not comfortable there anymore.”

“He’ll still find me, Rhys,” I mentioned quietly. “He’s always following me, always watching me. Even when we were together he’d have people follow me.”

Silence. Then, “Feyre, you have an iPhone, right?”

I paused at the completely unrelated remark then said, “Yes.”

“Guessing you have iCloud. And a shared account with Tamlin.”

My eyes closed, and I swore under my breath. He’d been tracking me through my phone. By the Gods, he could know where I was right now.

I immediately fished it out of my back pocket, and after a few swipes deleted his account off my phone completely. How Rhys had figured it out, I didn’t know, but some of the tension released from my muscles, and I could relax a little more into my seat. 

A few more minutes passed by until we began nearing a large complex. When I saw the “H” symbol, my brows furrowed. When Rhys pulled into the parking lot, my head whipped to meet his gaze. 

“Why are we here? Did somebody get hurt?”

“Everybody’s fine, Feyre.” He said calmly, quietly. Nonetheless, a ball of worry had formed in my stomach, but Rhys’s gaze remained impassive. He pulled into a spot nearest to the emergency doors, put the car in park, then turned to me. 

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, but I’m giving you two choices from which I strongly recommend you pick one. The first is to come with me into the emergency and let them check you in on a seventy two hour hold—”

My mouth opened in a gasp as I realized what he was suggesting. Incredulous and royally _pissed_ , I yelled, “No, Rhys! _No_!”

“It’s seventy-two hours. They watch you, evaluate you, try to triage your case and give you an action plan with follow-ups so we can try to help you through everything you’re feeling right now.”

The indignant tears flowing from my eyes trailed down my cheeks and my neck, to my chest. Resentment swelled in my chest, and I couldn’t even look at Rhys as I ground out, “And what’s the second option?”

“I give you my private psychologist’s number and watch you call him to make an appointment in his next available slot. I personally prefer option one, but it’s your choice Feyre.”

I rested my head against the car window, and tried to quell the sobs threatening to rise within me once more. This was all too much too fast. All of it. It was like my senses were overloaded and shocked, unable to process the events that unrolled over the past few weeks. The audacity Rhys had to pretend like he could just exercise that much control over my life was infuriating. Forcing me to make decisions about my life? My health? Who did he think he was?

And I was still so, so tired. I just wanted to recline in this chair and let my body go numb again. 

“Feyre,” he said, but I ignored him, slipping into my own bottomless abyss never to resurface. He said my name a few more times, but I ignored him.

“ _Look at me_ ,” Rhys pleaded, and the guttural desperation in his voice made my eyes open, and my body turn so I was facing him. There he was, turned in his seat, one hand clasped on the wheel and the other on the compartment between us. His eyes were bleeding with worry and sorrow. I swallowed hard at the look, unable to take my eyes off of his. 

“I’m not trying to force you into anything. I don’t want to control you or make you do something that you don’t want to do. But I…” he trailed off, and looked away for a moment into the distance where the ‘EMERGENCY’ sign glowed a bright red amidst the dark parking lot. “What happened today is not something you can brush off or ignore. I couldn’t live with myself if I let you continue like this. You need help, Feyre. You've been pushing it away for too long.”

Wet desperation streaked down my burning cheeks. 

“You need help, and I want to help you, but I can’t do it alone. I don’t have the skills or education to be able to personally help you through this. But I can do everything in my capabilities to ensure that you do have the necessary people to care for you.”

More silence. I still couldn’t face him, couldn’t respond. I didn’t know how. 

“Feyre.”

Slowly, so slowly, I inched my gaze towards his. Rhys reached between us and extended his hand. 

“You’re not alone in this. I am here, we’re _all_ here, for you.”

There was a cleaving, a crack in my chest, as my trembling fingers reached out and curled around his.

We stared at each other for a few moments across the dark car. The stars that sparkled in his eyes shined bright with an inconceivable emotion, a blend of desperation and terror and sadness and-

Hope. There was hope in his eyes, a feeling that'd felt so foreign to me for so long. I latched onto it, every scrap and piece that he offered me, because if I couldn't do it for myself, than I could do it for him. 

I could... I could try. For him. For the person who'd tried for me time and time again, no matter how many times I'd pushed him away.

“What’s the number?” I croaked as I fished my phone back from where I’d stored it in the dash. 

When it went through, I passed the phone to Rhys. The call was long, and Rhys’s soothing voice had filled the car trying to explain my situation. He’d initially put me on the phone to ensure that I consented to him sharing my private information. When the phone was passed to me after fifteen minutes of back and forth, I swallowed hard and said, “Hello?”

“Hi Feyre. This is doctor Suriel. Rhysand was telling me about your situation and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“Um, I’m, uh, better than before.”

“That’s great. I know these are difficult questions, especially since we’re doing this over the phone, but I want to ensure that you’re safe until we meet on Monday.”

“Alright.”

“Feyre, are you still feeling suicidal?”

The question felt so loud in the small space. Rhys was looking away, out the window, and my cheeks heated with embarrassment as I mumbled, “Yes.”

“Do you feel unsafe, like you’re going to harm yourself or others?”

I bit my cheek. “Not right now.”

“But possibly if you were in a different location?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I know you have Rhysand with you. Do you trust this person?”

My stomach twisted with unease as my eyes darted to the man in the driver’s seat. After a moment, I said, “Yes.”

“Alright. My recommendation Feyre would be to check into the emergency room if you’re feeling suicidal. But if you believe that you can make it through the weekend and wait until Monday, and I know that you have somebody with you that you can trust, then I feel comfortable with you going home.”

“Okay,” I said, unsure of what else to say. I’d never spoken to a psychologist or mental health worker. It was oddly… comforting, knowing that there was somebody out there thinking it crucial I stay safe over the weekend; that I was looked after. 

“If you don’t have any questions for me, Feyre, then you can pass me back to Rhys.”

“Okay.” I didn’t trust myself saying anything else, not as my throat closed up, and my eyes welled with a new wave of tears. 

Rhys spoke for a few minutes longer, then set his phone back into the holster before starting the car back up and setting out to exit the parking lot. I kept staring straight ahead, unable to stop the stream of emotion on my face. 

I realized that the cleave in my chest, the sliver that’d opened up within me, was that same teasing ray of light coming to settle back within me. 

It’d sparked to life the moment Rhys had reached his hand out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments on the last chapter really made my heart swell.  
> Update took a little longer this time because I went on vacation (BC is awesome, where are all my fellow skiers??) but I also wanted to make sure that I got this chapter just right because this really is the climax of Feyre's situation. I know these topics are heavy but I promise from this chapter on it'll be getting much lighter. Please, if you are ever, EVER feeling this way, know that there are people out there who love and care for you, and you are never alone. You matter. You are loved.  
> Call the hotlines lifted above or go to your local emergency room if you ever feel like you're going to harm yourself or take your own life.  
> I've been in similar situations before, and I know how terrifying it is to feel this way. Looking back, I always wished I would've reached out sooner and gotten the help I needed. No matter what you're feeling, just know that there IS hope, there IS light amidst the darkness you may be feeling, and there IS a bright future ahead of you.  
> I love each and every one of you for all the support and kindness you share for this story. Us booknerds stick together, forever and always <3  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	17. Appointments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre makes good on her promise to Rhys, and Rhys makes good on his promise to Feyre. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Appointments by Julien Baker.  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdBu21i9aEE
> 
> TW: Brief and non-graphic mention of self-harm, suicide and domestic abuse.

_** Chapter 16: Appointments ** _

Feyre

“How are you feeling today, Feyre?”

How was I feeling? I didn’t know. My body felt like TV static with the volume on low. Crackling, bustling, full of nervous energy, but dim. Quiet. How was I supposed to explain that to him without sounding like a true basket case?

He sat in the chaise across from me. It was grey, muted, soft. Everything in his office was. There were great, wide panoramic windows, and the rain beat softly against them. Another week of rain in Prythian, as though it was just for me. 

The couch beneath me was soft, comfortable. I sank into it when I’d sat down minutes ago and settled in after sitting in the waiting room. When I’d first walked into the clinic, there were others in the chairs. An older man, probably in his forties, was thumbing a magazine, but not looking at it. Just staring at the walls around him, flicking through the magazine, as though his fingers were soaking in the articles through his skin. A woman about my age listening to music on her phone, eyes closed, head leaned back on the wall. I’d only stared at my feet as the sound of the secretary typing away on her computer filled the empty space, paperwork clutched in my fingers. I’d filled them out on Saturday, and Rhys had them scanned and emailed that day, but they needed more paper copies handed from me in person. 

“Miss Archeron?” The secretary had called out. I’d pushed up from my seat and shuffled over to the counter, presenting her with the five sheets I’d meticulously filled out. They were thorough, extremely thorough—so much so that when I’d filled them out at Rhys’s kitchen counter, I was clenching my teeth, ticking off the boxes that applied. 

_Suicidality:_

_Ideation: No-_ **_Active_ ** _-Passive_

_Plan: No-_ **_Yes_ ** _(describe): Jump_

_Attempts: No-_ **_Yes_ ** _-More than one_

_Date of last attempt: March 27th_

_Lethality of attempt(s):_ **_Low_ ** _-Moderate-High_

Thankfully, Rhys had left me alone that night leaning over the kitchen island, pen tapping against the cold marble. Every question was like another stab in the gut. 

_Self-Harm Behaviour:_

_Current: No-_ **_Yes_ ** _(describe): Cutting_

_Past: No-_ **_Yes_ ** _(describe): Cutting, two years ago_

When it got to family history and prior or current relationships, I nearly tore up the papers right then and there and walked out of the townhouse. Instead, I scribbled down my answers as concisely and quickly as possible to not feel the sting of the words. 

Handing over the papers, it felt like I was yet again giving pieces of myself over, letting them cut open my brain and take a peak at the scrambled, decayed remains inside. 

The secretary, a kind-smiled woman in her early thirties, pointed to a blue door where the gold plaque read Dr. Angèl Suriel, PhD. I’d knocked softly on the door, heard a muffled, “Come in!” From the other side. The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the faint smell of fried chicken. 

“Sorry,” he’d said, hunched over his desk further in the back of the room, next to the windows on the back wall. There’d been a rustling of a food takeout bag before he’d shoved the top drawer of his desk closed. “Just got some lunch quickly.”

He opened a window, and lit a candle on his desk next to his jar of identical pencils, then turned to face me. Angèl Suriel was an older man, tall and thin with darker skin. His accent was slightly lilted, definitely Spanish judging by his first name. He’d smiled warmly when he faced me and extended his hand, which he’d brushed on his tan trousers moments before. 

“Angèl Suriel,” he'd presented himself, and I’d shaken his hand weakly. “But call me Suriel. No doctor formalities, please.” He’d smiled. “You must be Feyre.”

I nodded, eyes diverting from his. They were brilliant blue, so pale, contrasting against his tanner skin. 

Staring at him now, sitting five feet across from me on his chaise with a file in his lap, I wondered how the hell Rhys had found this guy. _Why_ he’d needed to find him, in the first place.

How was I feeling? How was I _feeling_? 

My tongue felt swollen, limp and utterly useless in my mouth. I resorted to staring past him, over his shoulder, to the buildings in the background. They were like standing giants across the city, watching over, holding thousands of people with energy and life, but so solemn and serious in appearance. 

“Feyre?” He repeated. 

I blinked. “How about you look in that file of yours and tell me how I’m feeling, Suriel.”

“Oh no, that’s not how this works,” he grinned. “It seems as though you’ve watched too much TV, miss Archeron. I’m not going to sit here and waste my time if you’re going to be resistant or unwilling to share. I’m only going to say this once, so listen to me.”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest as those crystal eyes met mine, and he leaned forward slightly in his seat. 

“There are thousands of people in this city who suffer with the very same feelings and behaviours that you demonstrate. There are hundreds of people on my waiting list, right now, waiting for a call that they can finally see me and get the help they need. I work twelve hours a day seeing people, filling in charts, coordinating with hospitals and answering ER calls at three in the morning. I’m doing this as a favour for Rhys, and I’m doing this because I want to help you. It’s only going to work if you do your part as well. So if you’re here to waste my time, feel free to leave so I can get back to my fried chicken.”

I sat there shocked. My mouth was open in surprise, and all I could do was blurt, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Satisfied that I’d given him an answer, he resumed his position, one leg crossed across the other to balance the papers in his lap. “Okay,” he said, “how about we try this. On a scale of one to ten, one being your complete worst, and ten being your complete best, where do you think you fall?”

It took a few seconds to mull over before I murmured, “Three, I think.”

He nodded and wrote something down. “And Friday night? What number did you feel then?”

That one didn’t take as long. “Zero.”

“Zero,” he repeated. “You just broke my scale.”

Despite myself, I snorted. 

“Tell me about what happened.”

Another question that settled within me like a stone sinking into water. I felt like I was holding it in the palm of my hands, turning it over slowly, examining its features, dips and curves, not knowing where to begin, or what to say. 

“I don’t know what happened.” That was true. The details were so hazy. The timeline was broken in my head, only giving me fragments and pieces of those moments on the ledge. 

In his lap, Suriel flipped over a paper and murmured, “It says here you were going to jump. Where were you?”

At the word jump, I flinched. Clutching my kneecaps, I blew out a shaky breath, still staring just past Suriel’s shoulder, never quite into his eyes. “At my friend Cassian’s apartment. Fifty storeys up.” I picked at the skin on my thumb, not knowing what to do with my hands. 

“You went to a friend’s house? To carry out your plan?”

“I was staying at his place.”

“For how long?”

“I was there for about a week and a half.”

“Where do you live now?”

“With Rhys in his townhouse.”

“And before that?”

I wasn’t ready to go there yet. “My apartment.”

But Suriel watched me carefully, like he knew my answer was missing something.

I murmured, “With my ex-fiancee.”

His pen scribbled against the paper once more, and this time when he looked back up at me, he said, “You were at this friend’s apartment. Alone?”

I nodded. “He was still at work.”

“So,” he said, then paused for a bit, wondering how to phrase his next question, “do you remember the events, or maybe the emotions or thoughts that lead up to the execution of your plan?”

It was like I was back up on that building with Rhys’s voice echoing in my ears. I could practically feel the rain falling on my shoulders, my hair, my hands. 

When Suriel pushed a Kleenex box on the small table between us, I realized it was because I was crying. The tear drops collected in my open palms like some sick offering to the gods of pain. 

“Why am I doing this?” I whispered sinisterly, bitterness in my voice, my eyes as I narrowed them at Suriel, wanting to storm out of this fucking office and never look back. Rhys was wrong. He was a destructive, conniving asshole. “What the _fuck_ is the point of this?

Suriel, not missing a beat, leaned forward as I did, and spoke in that low commanding voice of his he’d wielded only minutes ago. “The point of therapy, Feyre, is for you to get as close as possible to the ideal life you imagine and want for yourself. To solve the problems you face, to help hone your skills and speak your mind. Many of my clients walk into this office just like you, sometimes in worse shape, clinging to the notion that this is the enemy. That _I_ am the enemy. But the only enemy right now in this room is _you_ , you and your mind.” 

I couldn’t stop myself from crying harder.

“I am not here to judge you. I am not here to pick apart your brains, but I need to know what the problem is, where to start, and where we can go from there. People walk into this office miserable and they leave with hope.”

Even the rain paused outside when I said, “I was kneeling in the entrance of the apartment. Crying.”

My mind went back to me curled into myself on the hardwood floor, when I’d shut out the world completely in my own little bubble of agony. 

“I got up, ran to the bathroom, and tried to find pills, blades, anything, but the shelves were empty. Cassian must’ve been worried because he’d basically childproofed the entire damned place. But one thing he couldn’t take away from me was the fact he’d bought an apartment on the fiftieth floor.”

“And before that? Before you went out on the balcony? Why were you crying?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Words I hadn’t spoken to anyone, not a soul. Words I didn’t think I could even speak. 

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

I clenched my eyes closed, only able to see his twisted snarl of fury when his hands had closed around my throat. When my chest had slammed into his desk. When his fists slammed into my ribs. 

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

Slowly, trembling, I forced a breath into my lungs. I choked it out in a sob. 

“Good. Another one.”

This time it came a little easier. On the exhale of my third breath, I said, “He was there. My ex.”

“Did you speak to him?”

I shook my head. “I heard him through the door. He’d found me with a tracker on my phone.”

“Why aren’t you together anymore?”

I thought of the elevator, of me crawling on my hands and knees, nails cracking as I tried to resist him dragging me across the carpet of the executive floor. 

“Because he locked me up,” I wheezed. “He wasn’t my partner. He was my captor.”

There was an eerie silence, only broken by the soft sounds of my quiet sobs. Suriel’s eyes found mine, and when I looked up to him, I said, “He was my fiancee. And I loved him. I love him.”

“But,” Suriel sighed, “he abused you.”

“No,” I contradicted weakly, “not necessarily.”

“Was he ever physically violent with you? Did he ever intentionally hurt you, has he ever tried to manipulate you or repress you?”

Silence. And Suriel had his answer. As I reached for a tissue, Suriel wrote some more notes in his papers. He looked over his shoulder to the city scape, then turned those eyes to mine and wondered, “Have you talked to your friends since everything happened?”

I shook my head. “Only Rhys. He may have said something to them, but I’m not sure.”

“Okay. It says here you don’t have a job right now. Are you looking?”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “A little. Rhys offered me something short-term.”

Suriel said, “That’s good. I want you working on something right now, Feyre. Even if it’s from home, if it’s a skill or a hobby or a job, you need something right now to keep you distracted. I don’t know enough about your situation right now to give you more specific goals or coping mechanisms, but I’ve found the best thing for clients in your position is just to keep their mind focused on something else. Being alone with only your thoughts when they’re so toxic can lead you down the wrong roads.”

I nodded, hands pursed in my lap. 

“Try to see what Rhys can do with that job, try to talk with some friends. Something light. You don’t need to tell them about what you’re going through if you’re not comfortable because you don’t owe anyone an explanation. So you know your homework?”

“Get a job. Talk to friends.”

He snorted. “Distract yourself, Feyre. With good things. Light things. Even if it’s a movie with Rhys or cooking dinner. And try to stay away from alcohol and substances.”

“Distraction.” I repeated. 

“Distraction.” He confirmed, a light grin on his face. “And I’m afraid that’s all the time we have.”

I wiped my nose once more then stood, tissue clenched in my fingers. “Same time next week?” I wondered, heading towards the door. 

Suriel smiled then said, “Sounds good to me. Thank you very much for today, Feyre. You’re doing extremely well so far.”

“Well, hopefully therapy is the one thing I won’t fuck up.”

He smiled, more of a smug, cheeky smile. I opened the door and it closed softly behind me, but not before hearing his drawer being pulled open, and the sound of that takeout bag rustling around. 

***

The car door shut beside me, and Rhys turned on the ignition. 

“How was it?”

The streets passed by, full of people, full of energy. “Were you there in the parking lot the whole time?”

He shrugged as he made a left turn, going the opposite way of home. I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you have better things to do? A company to manage?”

“My office is very flexible. Phone calls can be made from anywhere, including the comforts of my car.”

“You shouldn’t be sacrificing your work to take care of me.”

Rhys eyed me sideways. “Taking care of you is not a sacrifice. It’s as essential as any hour of tediousness in that stupid building.”

I sighed, my arms crossing across my chest. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere. How was the session? Do you like him? If not, we’ll find somebody else.”

The rain beat furiously against the windshield. Rhys increased the speed of his wipers. I said, “It was fine.”

“Fine.” It was more of an assertion than a question. 

“He’s strange, but he’s good.” I glanced at him sidelong, and that calm concentration lining his features. “How did you find him?”

He shrugged. “Suriel was a very difficult man to track down. There’re many psychologists in Prythian, but not many that take on…these kinds of cases.”

“Which kinds?”

He looked at me then, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Suicidal ones.”

My next question was already on my lips, but a call came through, and Rhys touched the bluetooth piece in his left ear. “Yes Morrigan?”

I could hear her shrill voice distantly yelling at him to never call her that again. Rhys and her spoke of something for a few minutes, names and things I didn’t understand and didn’t care enough to try and decode. Finally, he said, “I’ll be there in a minute.” The call ended, and he pulled the piece out of his ear, discarding it in the cupholder. I looked out the window, curious as to where we were. 

“Where are we going?”

Rhys said, “To the office. I have to pick up some things.”

My heart beat nervously. I knew that the circle would be in the office, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see them yet. But I remembered Suriel’s homework for me and sighed, knowing that it was best if I did have some sort of human contact. “Can I come?”

His smile was wicked and salacious. “But of course, darling. Let me take you into devil’s lair.”

***

Night Industries was nothing like Spring Corporations. 

Everything, from the lobby to the reception to the workers was much more heavy duty. Sleek. Dripping with grace and elegance in a dark, ominous way. Black marble greeted us upon our entry where six security guards stood at their posts. Each nodded to Rhysand, who in turn greeted them all by name with a stern nod of his head. Rhys didn’t need to say anything as he marched past the reception desk towards the elevators. I went to reach for the button, but he shook his head. 

“Executive floor is more protected than that.”

I raised my eyebrows. 

“We do things a little different here than Spring.”

At that, he lead me down another corridor to the left and down two flights of stairs. I was about to ask where the hell he was taking me when we entered another lounge, with a different secretary, who instantly greeted us with a smile on her face. This place was darker, a dingy unsuspecting hallway that I wouldn’t have considered if ever I were to break in. I guess Rhys expected such a thing and acted accordingly. 

“Good morning Nuala,” Rhys smiled as he laid his finger on the scanner presented to him by the dark haired woman. She didn’t say a word to him, only smiled at both of us as the tablet turned green and the door to what looked like a janitorial elevator opened. It reeked of metal and rust as we entered the wide space. On the interior, it was padded with black velvet and golden lining. Rhys pressed the button for the ninetieth floor, and we were going up. 

“Your clients don’t find this a little sketchy when they visit?”

Rhys snorted. “My clients never cross the threshold of my real office.”

Another raise of my brows. He only said, “You can never be too careful, Feyre darling.”

We were silent the rest of the way up. Once the elevator doors opened once more, the space that greeted us was nothing like the beat-up receptionist’s office downstairs. 

Everything was dark, but in a different way. Grey walls. Dark stained floors with a silver carpet leading down the main artery of the hallway. On each side were doors, definitely offices or file rooms hiding behind them. It was like an impenetrable fortress on all four sides. At the end of the corridor lay a set of black double doors with silver glinting handles. Lights shone at the bottom of each wall, lighting up the floors, leading your way to them. I only stood in shock at the stark differences between Spring and Night, the luxury and elegance that seemed oozing power and control here rather than tacky expensiveness in that ivory tower. 

Before the doors to the right hand side stood an empty office chair behind a black desk. An Apple computer was there, unused, unoccupied, waiting for somebody to sit down. 

“Who works there?”

“No one yet,” Rhys replied as he laid his palm on his door handle. He waited a moment before a whir and a click sounded, then winked at me. “Only opens with my fingerprints on the door handle.”

How that worked, I had no clue. But once the doors opened, I swallowed hard at the scene that greeted me. 

If… if _his_ office was supposed to look grand, it was nothing compared to Rhys’s. 

The walls were twenty feet high, and along the entire back wall stood windows reaching all the way from floor to ceiling. The light, despite the rainy day, was bright and inviting, speckled with drops of precipitation outside. On the left side of the room lay an area for comfort, white leather couches and seats, enough for all the damn employees in this place to sit. A low grey marble table sat between the seats in the middle of the circle, currently obscured with documents and files piled up haphazardly. Stretched out across it though, was a map—a map of Prythian, marked up by different colour pens, from the Sidra to the major companies of Prythian and their headquarters. The colours made no distinct pattern I could decipher, but the entire thing seemed meticulously examined. 

On the ceiling, light lined the space in strips, the source unseen beneath the black beams forming squares, each equally spaced apart. On the side wall were different alcoves, within one I could see acting as a coffee bar with a mini fridge beneath it. The others were wider, also lined with light—but barren. 

“I’m waiting for the right art piece to put there.” He explained. “Nothing has quite tickled my fancy yet.”

_I could paint for you_ , I thought, but then was disgusted by the notion of picking up a paint brush. 

And to the left of the space was finally his desk. Nearly the length of the wall—the back of which was filled with books—and also dark to match his limited palette. Three screen monitors sat atop of it, and other files were strewn around, as though he’d left his office in a hurry. He strode over to it once he saw my shock had subsided it, and sat in his black leather chair with a sigh. 

“Take a seat, Feyre. Won’t be too long.”

I sat in the grey leather chair across from him, still soaking in the room. It was gorgeous. Bigger than any apartment my sisters, father and I used to live in. 

He fiddled around on his cellphone for a bit while I was still gazing across the city skyline, and minutes later came a knock at the door. Rhys checked the monitor, then pressed a button on his keyboard. The door opened, and in pranced Mor. 

“Seriously, I could’ve just emailed them to you. I don’t know why you’ve got to waste so much gas to drag your ass across the city for a stupid paper—” only she stopped when she saw me. Mor, beautiful as ever, wore a white pantsuit and her hair up in a high sleek ponytail to show off her gold hoop earrings. Her face broke into a smile, her red lipstick beaming, when she saw me. 

“Feyre! He finally showed you around. What do you think? Don’t give him any credit for this place, I designed this thing from the ground up.”

“You’re a dirty liar, Morrigan. This place was built before you were born.”

“Don’t call me that again, Rhys, lest you want me to remove your favourite part. And you know full well that I was in charge of all the renovations, so look in the mirror next time you call someone a liar.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as Mor sauntered over and handed him the paper. His eyes scanned it for a few moments before they filled with dread. “Seriously?” He asked his cousin mournfully.

She only swallowed, eyes skirting over the words as well. “I’m sorry, Rhys.”

He sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll just add it to the rest of the chaos we have to deal with.”

As he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a file, Mor came to sit beside me. Her hand found mine and gave it a squeeze, her brown eyes warm and bright. “You’re looking great, Feyre.”

I could tell by the kindness in her voice that she was being genuine, and not Ianthe’s sappy fake shrill that I was used to. “Thanks, Mor.” My voice was scratchy and low. 

She turned her head to Rhys, who was collecting other papers from his desk to cram into the manila folder. “Have you talked to her about the position yet? It’d be nice to have someone new around the—”

One look from him and she stopped mid-conversation, then turned to me. “I picked up another set of clothes for you, by the way. After your comments from last time I went for more…comfort. Still very stylish, though, so not to worry.”

“Thanks. I didn’t really think the leather jacket look suited me.”

Mor laughed at my dryness, and Rhys only rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor.” A clear dismissal, but I only thought of what Suriel had given me for homework as Mor lifted from her seat and made her way to the door. 

“Wait,” I said, looking into Mor’s soft eyes, who were filled with hope and excitement just at the sound of my voice. My heart swelled with the non-verbal support she held for me. “Why don’t you all come over tonight? For dinner?”

“Feyre, darling, please, that’s just asking for it.”

“Wait, no! That’s perfect! I’ll make cookies, and we can bring popcorn and snacks and oh, oh!” Mor jumped up and down excitedly, looking to Rhys with her eyes full of hope. “We can have a game night!”

“Dear Gods, Mor,” Rhys folded his hand into a steeple and closed his eyes, his features lined with misery. “Are you trying to scare her away?”

“Oh, you’re just old and cranky. Make yourself another coffee, for fuck’s sake. Have a little fun, Rhys. We’ll be there at seven!” 

The door closed, and I could only work on trying to bite back my smile as I turned to face Rhys. 

“You seriously don’t know what you’ve started, Feyre.”

“I’m just doing what Suriel suggested, Rhys,” I said sweetly. “Social interaction is good for the disturbed mind.”

He only chuckled and shook his head, amused. Then he stood, hands in the dark trousers he’d donned today. No suit—he’d worked from home most of the morning before my appointment. The black long-sleeve sweater he wore stretched over his muscles that rippled beneath as he faced the skyline below us. 

“I did come here for that paper, but I guess while I’m at it I should make good on my promise to you.”

Pushing up from my chair, I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed over my chest. “Promise?”

“Yes. I said I’d have a job for you. And I do.” He was quiet for a few moments, the stars in his eyes glowing as he gazed at the cars below. “I need all the people I can get right now.”

“Why?” I breathed. The response, whatever it was, made my heart beat furiously in my chest. 

“Because war is coming, Feyre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So the world has completely changed since my last update.  
> My heart goes out to anybody affected by Covid-19, whether it be yourself or a family member, or whether the economic impacts have caused you any dismay concerning unemployment or money problems. My family, thank God, is safe and healthy, but I know a few friends who've had deaths in their family. I unfortunately temporarily lost my job, but my family are helping me out until the crisis is over :) Isolation is taking a toll on me, being captive in my home is definitely not good for my mental health, and if you or anyone you know is struggling right now, they are always only a phone call or facetime away. Stay happy and healthy, everyone.  
> To help ease the boredom of quarantine, after a few weeks of doing absolutely nothing I've begun writing again. Many, many chapters are on the way (probably another update tonight!) to help both you and I stay somewhat entertained through this.  
> I also just wanted to say a huge thank you for all the support on my last chapter. It really... it really just means so much to me that you liked it. I'm so glad to know that we're in this together, that we're not alone :)  
> So, as I said, I hope you're all well, and stay at home!! Help flatten the curve :)  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat


	18. Buzzcut Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of Hybern and Night Industries.
> 
> Song of the chapter: Buzzcut Season by Lorde  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pstVCGyaUBM

_**Chapter 17: Buzzcut Season** _

_War._

The word echoed in my mind, and all I could see was his face twisted into that vicious snarl of his. 

“Please,” I breathed, “Don’t do it. Not for me. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

“What are you talking about?” Rhys demanded, his eyes full of concern and confusion. When he finally understood the fear in my eyes, the trembling of my fingers, he shook his head. “No, Feyre—not with Tamlin. Not with Spring Corporations.” 

I flinched at the sound of his name. 

Rhys sighed, then gently took me by the elbow and lead me over to the couch. It was directly in front of the map I’d seen before. Rhys wandered over to the coffee counter, and I heard the whirring of a machine. He spoke over the noise. 

“Spring Corporations, for the last six months, has been working with Hybern and Co to import and sell Cauldron. C’s made their way into Prythian’s black market about three years ago, and since then can be found at nearly every party, frat house, club or back alley. They are all anyone wants right now, and the price they go for has never been higher. Hybern and Spring have been profiting big time off of these druggies. But they can’t maintain their supply anymore.”

“Why?” The world of drugs and illegalities still confused me to high hell, but Rhys remained calm and focused. He strode over from the coffee bar with two mugs in his hands, and handed me one. The smell was peppermint, and one sip of it had my stomach calm. He sat beside me, hands wandering over the map. 

“These, here, are the ports. They used to import everything and operate out of here, the warehouse. Spring owns both, and that's why Hybern was so keen on getting Ivy into the operation. That’s where I had my guys working to deliver them.”

“Wait, wait, how did you get caught up in this?”

“I’ll explain after. Anyways, we used to distribute from here to our dealers. But now, they can’t import anymore. They were caught with some misdealing at the border, and now they have no incoming supply. So they need a new facility to start producing here, in Prythian.”

“Okay, but what’s the issue then?”

Rhys sighed. He took another marker, then circled the mountains and territories north of Prythian, Illyria. “He’s looking at buying the reserve.”

My mouth fell open, and I immediately blurted, “Hybern can’t do that. That’s protected land. That’s their land.”

“I know,” Rhys sighed and fell back against the couch. “But this city has an asshole of a mayor in charge who doesn’t quite care as long as there’s money in his pocket.”

My brows furrowed. “He can’t do that.” I repeated, furious. I didn’t know much about Illyria, but I knew that their people, the Illyrians—they’d been there for hundreds of years. They were native to this land before Prythian was colonized, before the city had a skyline at all. 

“He can, and he’s trying. The land, though they claim is protected, is under city jurisdiction. No matter what we do, feds aren’t getting involved because it’s not federally owned. It’s up to the mayor and the people to decide. And as you know, the Illyrians aren’t very popular amongst city people.”

It was true. They had a reputation for their coldness, and were known only for their cheap gas prices and bars. 

“For years my people have been marginalized. They have no voice, no means to make a living. The only reason I've made something of myself is because of my father. We’ve been demanding for better government infrastructure, for healthcare, for schools, but the only thing that seems to be opening up are more bars and liquor stores.” His eyes closed. “My people have been suffering. The homicide rates, the suicide rates—they’re six times higher in their territories than here.”

For a few moments, we were quiet. I only looked down at the map, disdainful that I’d never been told of the suffering lingering just beyond the city limits. 

“If they buy that land, their homes will be destroyed. But that’s not all—they’ll employ those people. They’ll give them a pittance of a salary for menial work, and three quarters of them will be addicted to C’s before the first month of production is over.” He glanced at me sidelong, the usual spark in his features gone. “My people will only suffer more than they already have.”

I shook my head, eyes still focused on the map. “So what are you doing?” I wondered. “What can I do?”

Rhys hesitated for a moment, then said, “You seriously want to work with us?”

I thought it over for a moment, and realized quickly that I hadn’t been so passionate about something in… in years. I’d loved my job at Hum’s. It was something to do. Something to make the days go by without submitting completely to the numbness filling my bones. But this…working with my friends, trying to destroy the people who had ruined my life…

“You need to tell me how you got involved with Hybern, though. I want to know the whole story. I want to know what exactly it is you all do in this building before signing anything.”

Rhys looked to me for a few moments before saying, “Night Industries works security. Exactly like I explained to you: security detail, cybersecurity, infrastructure security, we do it all. We have real estate holdings, we have hundreds of investment projects. But security is our main focus.”

“Why?”

At that, Rhys smirked. “Because no one thinks the people that are protecting them actually listen in.”

“And by that you mean…?”

“Information, Feyre, costs more than any currency you can imagine. Secrets are worth more than a hundred kilograms of gold. Because they are leverage. Insight. A way into your enemy’s mind, the thread you pull for the fabric to fall apart completely. Nobody thinks the security guard in the front of the limo is listening in on their conversations about sly deals. Nobody thinks their security software is actually reporting back to the manufacturer whenever a new file is uploaded. Nobody thinks the guard at the museum party is noticing who walks into the bathroom with a married man for a quick fuck.”

I sat back for a moment, trying to process everything he was telling me. 

“I first caught wind of Hybern’s dealings because I was the one who worked his security detail when he first came to Prythian. As soon as my people reported back, I realized that I was sitting on one of the biggest drug operations to ever enter Prythian. Days later I was in Hybern and Co’s office, speaking to Mr. Hybern himself, proposing a business plan for his future dealings here.”

“Why did you help him?”

“It’s easier to know your enemy by being their friend. But back then, I was stupid. I moved too fast. Before I knew it my guys were in the streets practically dealing the stuff themselves. By then I knew I was in too deep, and I tried to back out as quickly as possible. But they had me by the balls. Bookkeeping on which my name wouldn’t be erased if it ever came to light. Irrefutable incriminating evidence that would flush my life and my business down the drain.”

“How did you get out finally?”

At that, Rhys’s face completely shut down. He only said, “By chance. I saw my opportunity and got the fuck out of dodge.”

By the sound of his voice, I knew not to push him. I only said, “I’m in.”

The storm in his eyes cleared up at the words. “What?”

“Whatever it is, I’m in. I’ll do it.”

“Feyre,” Rhys said quietly, “take some time to think it over. It doesn’t have to be right away.”

“What would my position be?”

“For starters, you’d be my personal assistant. That office out there would be for you.”

“I have very limited experience working in offices.” I never wanted to think about that janitor’s closet ever again.

“I know,” Rhys hedged, “and it won’t be like that at all. We’ll start you off slow, get you used to our systems, help you work your way up. Cerridwen, Azriel’s assistant, will show you all the ropes. We’ll start you off on half-days and work you up from there. If ever you feel sick, tired, anything—you have the day off, no questions asked.”

I eyed him nervously. I couldn’t believe, in the course of two weeks, I had gone from Spring Corporations straight to their enemy, ready to accept a job offer two days after nearly ending it all. 

“Like I said, take your time, Feyre.” Rhys said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’ll think about it.” I promised. “Over dinner tonight.” I added.

“Jesus Christ, I hoped you forgot.”

***

When we got home, I took a nap while Rhys cleaned up the main floor. He’d turned it into his office while he was working from home, despite the fact that he had a perfectly usable office upstairs. He said it was ‘too dark’ (despite the wall of windows it had), and I knew full well it was just because he wanted to keep an eye on me while I lounged on his couch reading and watching TV. As though I would try to suffocate myself to death with a pillow. 

My alarm went off at seven, and I dragged myself to the bathroom to make myself look presentable. I donned some of the nicer clothes Mor had bought me, just jeans and a t-shirt, but each were soft and expensive looking, that made the guilt within me fester even more. For the first time in a while, I looked at myself in the mirror, and was terrified of the face who stared back. 

I hadn’t noticed the thinness in my face until my cheeks had hollowed out and my skin was pale and white. My hair had begun falling out a while ago, coming out in heaps of strands in the shower, and it’d lost any traces of shine and glimmer that it originally held. Not to mention, my waist had thinned out as well, and my ribcage stood out starkly against my skin. The t-shirt, thank the Gods, was loose. All I had the energy to do was run a comb through my messy hair, brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. Though it wasn’t much of an improvement from before, at least it was something. 

Downstairs, Rhys had cleaned up most of his mess, leaving behind only his computer on the corner of the coffee table before the TV. In the kitchen, the counter was clean, and something smelled glorious as the sounds of kernels popping emanated from the microwave. 

“Popcorn?” Rhys wondered as he pulled the bag out and dumped the contents into a bowl. I nodded my head and pecked at a few kernels. My stomach, thankfully, did not protest at the buttery taste across my tongue. 

At the edge of island were two games stacked atop one another: Pictionary and Monopoly. I raised my brows. 

“My family takes game night very, very seriously. It doesn’t happen often. When it does, I always have to buy a new table.”

“A new table?”

The doorbell rang, and a look of misery overcame Rhys’s face. “Because someone always ends up flipping it.”

I stayed in the kitchen while Rhys wandered unhurriedly to the front entrance. Once the door opened, it was instant chaos that overtook the household. There was so much noise and voices that I could barely decipher who had walked in the door, only the fact that someone had wrapped me in their arms. Cassian’s comforting scent enveloped me, and I sighed as I hugged him back, missing his cheerful spirit. 

“Feyre! You could’ve at least given me some rent money before you left.”

I forced the best chuckle I could as he released me, and his full, toothy smile shined above me. Before I could even say anything his hand was already reaching for the popcorn. I guess Rhys hadn’t said much about my abrupt move out of his apartment, and I think I preferred it that way. 

A low voice sounded from behind me, “We brought pizza. Mor requested banana chilis, I’m sorry.” Azriel then nodded to me, and I gave him my best impression of a grin. It didn’t work.

“It’s like you’re trying to burn off my tastebuds.” Cassian whined. 

Mor was already moving around the kitchen like a hurricane, plucking wine glasses from Rhys’s cabinets and pulling a bottle of rosé from her purse. She only replied to Cassian, “You’re one of the only ones here with an inkling of culture, honey. Your tastebuds should be adapted to spice by now.”

“I’m going to ignore that slightly racist comment. And remind you that you and Feyre are the minorities in this party.”

“Do you have anything strong, Rhys? I don’t know why they keep inviting me to these.” Amren commented. She’d already taken up a spot sitting on the kitchen counter. By the lack of looks she was getting, I guessed that was her usual seat. 

“You’re the one that keeps showing up, Amren. Nobody’s forcing you.” Cassian argued. 

Amren quipped, “You parked in front of my apartment building and threatened to honk all night until I got in with you. I don’t want public disturbance added to my criminal record.”

_Added_? was all I could think to myself as Rhys pulled out a bottle of vodka. Amren smiled—well, smile was the best word for it, it was more like a wolf bearing its teeth. He poured her a knuckle’s length, and she knocked it back in one gulp. Rhys took one look at her and the bottle, then left it there for her on the counter. She poured herself another then kept it next to her, like a dragon guarding its trove. 

“I know you don’t like talking about work at home, but I have to tell you one thing.” Azriel said. 

Mor and Cassian both rolled their eyes at the same time (Mor tried to claim jinx, but Cassian refuted that you couldn't jinx something non-verbal). Rhys, though, was at full attention. In his hands was a glass of what looked like scotch. Suriel’s words kept playing in my mind, but I was thirsty—and a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. Just something to ease me into this new dynamic. I stood and went to the pantry and grabbed a glass, then went to the fridge where I knew Rhys kept his stash of white wine. 

Behind me, Azriel asked, “Do you trust her?”

The room was silent, save the sound of the wine pouring into my glass. Quietly, I put the cap on the bottle, then slid it back into the fridge side door. When I turned, five sets of eyes were turned to me. I only took a sip of my drink, then looked to Rhys. 

“Do you?” I asked curiously. Rhys only exhaled sharply. 

“Seeing as though I might be hiring miss Archeron, yes, I do trust her, Azriel.”

Cassian’s eyebrows lifted in excitement. “Seriously, Fey? You’re coming to work with us?”

The name threw me off, and I flinched. All I could see was his face, his and Lucien’s, the stupid nickname they’d called me for years. It only made me tilt back my glass, wanting to blur the lines of their faces until they were unrecognizable. 

“I have not agreed to anything yet, so don’t get your hopes up.” I took another sip, then pinned Cassian with a look. But not the type that was antagonizing or joking. I stared at him, dead serious, and said, “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian blinked. Even Mor looked between the two of us, shocked, only for Cassian to say, “Message received.”

“I got a call this afternoon,” Azriel said, trying to clear the air as quickly as possible, “that they’ve arranged a meeting for next week.”

“Hybern and the mayor?”

Azriel shook his head. “No. The mayor and Spring Corporations. They’re having lunch at West Border.”

“So he’s taken over as Hybern’s coordinator?”

“More or less. The mayor trusts Ivy. They’ve made deals together in the past, the mayor’s profited off of a few strategic property investments. It would be too direct to get Hybern involved.”

There was nothing else to do but sip my wine. Anything but think about his kind features and golden hair. Because I knew those investments. The limited amount of information he’d shared with me, I remembered, was about the mayor’s dealings. I’d even been to one of those lunches with him, a year back, when they were discussing a new condo development on the east side. 

“We can’t let that meeting happen,” Rhys said, “or we have to intercept it in some way.”

“What do you want us to do? Waltz in dressed as waiters and pull the fire alarm?” Cassian interjected.

Amren, seated at the kitchen counter, seemed like she was pondering the idea fondly. 

“Can we hold this meeting tomorrow? I’m hungry for pizza. And Pictionary.” Mor said. 

“That pizza is inedible.” Cassian grumbled, but picked up the boxes and wandered to the kitchen table anyways. 

“That’s why the Gods gave your Neanderthal-self opposable thumbs to pick off the peppers.”

I took a seat at the table between Rhys and Mor. Cassian instantly dug into the pizza box, tearing away the red peppers with an animalistic ferocity before nearly inhaling the slice. Mor savoured her piece slowly, and I reluctantly took a bite. The peppers set my tongue on fire, and I washed it down with a sip of wine. 

“Well?” Amren wondered, staring at her perfectly manicured nails. “Are we going to get this ridiculousness over or what?”

Azriel collected the Pictionary box from the kitchen island reluctantly and set it on the table, pulling away just in time before Cassian dug into the box, grease dripping from his fingers. 

“Remember what I told you Feyre?” Rhys murmured beside me.

“Yup,” I said, “if anyone but Azriel wins, then they’re cheating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers! Hope everyone is healthy and safe. I've got a few chapters ready to fire, so more updates coming soon! I'm in a super chocolate-induced writing coma and can't stop.  
> As always, your support is lovely and I am eternally grateful. Hope you all had a great weekend, and to those who celebrate it, happy Easter!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat


	19. Red Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game night!
> 
> Song of the chapter: Red Dust (Acoustic Version) by James Vincent McMorrow  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44m5D-VTfWA
> 
> TW: Mention of suicide and domestic violence.

_**Chapter 18: Red Dust** _

Feyre

“Another hotel on Pennsylvania avenue, please,” Mor asked sweetly. Sending her daggers with his eyes, Cassian chucked the red piece of plastic at the blonde who added next to the two others. 

“Can she even do that?” Rhys demanded, searching the box for an instructions list. 

We’d moved on to Monopoly after Rhys, Amren and I won at Pictionary. It wasn’t too hard, considering my sketching skills—Mor thought I was cheating after Amren guessed my rendition of the phrase “big brother’s watching”. It took her, unsurprisingly, lots of convincing that Pictionary was a very difficult game to cheat at, and that I was just a good artist. 

“You’ve got quite the talent,” Rhys had commented at the end of the game. “Would you like to draw me some time?”

“I’m more of a painter than a sketch artist. And I’m afraid it would be a disgrace to my talent to try to render you.”

“Why? Because you can’t possibly capture my charm and beautiful looks?”

“No, because I don’t have a canvas big enough to fit your ego in.”

He’d laughed at that, and I’d managed a small, secret grin before we’d moved over to the living room where Cassian was already tediously setting up the Monopoly board. He'd even searched all of us, to see if somebody had smuggled some money up their sleeve while we weren’t looking. I’d thought it was completely ludicrous until he’d found a clump of rolled up fifties in Amren’s front pocket. She’d only smirked like a snake before dropping into her chair. 

Only now, staring across the expanse of the board, I realized exactly how ruthless family game night was. It was a sea of hotels and houses, including my own properties—somehow I was better at handling fake money than real money and investments, and found myself neck and neck with Mor at the top of the leaderboard. 

“We’re never letting her back here,” Cassian mumbled. “She’s a wizard, Rhys. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“You’re just pissed because I bought Boardwalk before you.”

“I’m _pissed_ because landing on your spot costs me two thousand dollars, Feyre.” He said before taking another sip of his scotch. They’d brought out one of Rhys’s older bottles after moving on to Monopoly. I was on my third glass of wine, and the effects were beginning to kick in. I couldn’t remember why I wasn’t allowed to drink in the first place. 

I rolled a six and landed once again on boardwalk. I handed four fifties to Azriel and said, “Another hotel please.”

“This is why I hate Monopoly. You people hoard all of the properties then raise your rent so high I go bankrupt every time I turn the fucking corner.” Cassian said. 

“It’s called capitalism, sweetie, and it’s a beautiful world.” Amren ostentatiously thumbed her stack of money, perched cross-legged on her chair across from me.

“Oh shut up, Amren, or I’ll kick your piece right to jail.”

“Touch my piece and you die, Cassian.”

“Ha! Chance! I get to claim three hundred dollars from the bank.” Rhys said, looking to Azriel. He was the only one anybody trusted to hand out the money. 

“There’s no money left,” Azriel said, “the bank ran out last round after Amren passed Go.”

“Well print some more!” Rhys demanded. For the first five turns, he’d only landed on non-buying spaces and spent a few rounds in jail. His meagre two properties beside the Go space only had one house on them, and his stack was very, very thin. 

“I can lend you some money,” Mor said sweetly, “if you give me a real raise.”

“Oh, piss off,” he muttered before taking a sip of his drink.

“It’s your turn Amren.” Azriel commented drily. He couldn’t complain, he was right behind Mor, Amren and I. 

“You men are just jealous because the women are winning. How’s that for a wage gap?” She took the dice in her hands and Cassian rolled his eyes. 

“At least my wage gap is fictitious,” he said and slumped back against the couch.

“Watch it Cassian, because I make more than you.”

His eyes darted to hers. “Says who?”

Rhys sighed and buried his head in his hands.

“Says the many, many legal documents and payrolls I’ve been gazing over at work.”

“Okay, that’s it—” he went to pluck Amren’s piece, presumably to place her in jail, but Mor slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t put your pig hands on her. Us women stick together.” Mor said, arms crossed. Cassian rolled his eyes. 

“Exactly.” Amren said and rolled the dice. 

“Exactly,” I added from my quiet corner with a nod of my head before taking a sip of wine. 

“Fuck the patriarchy,” Mor chanted, fist raised in the air. 

“Fuck the patriarchy—” Amren and I repeated, but we were cut off as she counted with her piece until she landed on Boardwalk. 

Everyone was silent as Amren looked between Boardwalk, me and her stack of bills, which, though thick, was not enough to pay my rent. 

Deadpan, she said, “I’m not paying that.”

“Oh yes you are,” Mor countered, “that’s the rules of life, honey.”

“And to think I was chanting with you just seconds ago.” Amren shook her head, disgusted. 

“How’s the patriarchy looking now, huh?” Cassian said, his hands raised with an ‘I told you so’ look directed at Amren. 

“Fuck off, Cassian, I can swipe your ass off the board in seconds.”

“But you can’t seem to pay Feyre’s rent.” He refuted pointedly. 

“Because I’m not paying her rent. I counted wrong. Oops! I was supposed to land on luxury tax. Seventy-five dollars.”

“If I can’t get my three-hundred dollars from the bankrupt bank, then you have to put your properties up for mortgage and pay Feyre.” Rhys declared, and I nodded along with him. I didn’t give a shit about the three thousand dollars, I just wanted a fair game. 

“I’m not paying her three thousand dollars!” Amren cried. 

Cassian cooed, “That’s the name of the game, honey! What’d you say? Capitalism is a beautiful world?”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful when you keep landing on all the chance spaces and got all your money from the bank!” Amren stood, fists clenched at her sides. 

“You were the one who tried to smuggle fifties at the beginning of the game!”

“You were the one who kept the fifties in your sleeve until we found them five minutes later, jackass!”

From my corner, things were silent. Mor and Rhys got up to interject, and Azriel’s eyes, I could sense, were closely watching me as my heart began to beat faster. All the noise and yelling—

“How about this, how about this! You don’t pay rent, and I move you to where you belong!” Cassian took Amren’s piece and slammed it down on the jail spot. 

“Oh, that’s it!” She took Cassian’s piece and dropped it down right beside hers. “Have fun getting your insides rearranged in jail, ass wipe!”

All I could see was his face, yelling in mine, the feel of the study’s floor against my back as I laid there for an hour in agonizing pain, having to cover up my neck with layers of makeup day after day—

Or that last night when he’d thrown the glass and it’d shattered across the wall, how I couldn’t tell the difference between the red wine and the blood on my hands from all the shards—

Then the next thing I knew was the sound of the loud crash, pieces scattering across the floor, and an upset table sitting sideways before me. I looked up at them, mouth hanging open, impending panic completely gone. 

Only Amren said, “You know, Feyre, you dug your gave the second you put up a second hotel.”

The phrase rolled so easily off her tongue, an expression she probably used often with friends like this—I didn’t realize it until it played again in my mind. Rhys did, too, because his eyes widened and zeroed on me, then Amren, ready to verbally eviscerate her. 

But all I could do was laugh. A full, rich laugh, one I hadn’t let out in a while. It felt good at the start, because just the irony of this entire situation, being in Rhys’s _townhouse_ playing _Monopoly_ with his friends days after I tried to _kill_ _myself_ , was really fucking hilarious. The more I thought of it though, the more it brought me back up on that ledge, back in those moments of absolute agony that I would never shake for the rest of my life. Then, the thought of me, in my grave, and the sad, sad tombstone atop of it. _Feyre Archeron. Remembered and loved by no one._

I didn’t realize I was sobbing until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw Rhys, the pain and fury in his eyes, and quickly pushed off from the chair before turning towards the stairs.

***

Rhys

I released the breath I was holding after I heard the door close quietly upstairs. It took everything within me not to order them out of the house and run up to her, hold her, wipe those awful tears away and just have some damn quiet for once. 

The blood in my veins was hot enough to burn this fucking house to the ground as I turned to Amren. She seemed completely unbothered by the entire thing, if not bored. And though I’d risk my manhood doing so, I didn’t care about being an asshole as I seethed, “You can really be an inconsiderate bitch sometimes, Amren.”

Even Mor flinched. Ariel looked uneasily between the two of us, but Amren only rolled her eyes as she examined her nails. “Rhysand, you cannot say I’m inconsiderate when I have no fucking clue what’s going on. How was I supposed to know that death sets her off?”

Instead of losing my cool, which I was very, very close to doing, I let out another breath and heaved my table back into its original position, thanking my past self for buying something more resistant this time. Azriel and Mor started picking up the little pieces as I said, “Feyre left Cassian’s condo Friday because Tamlin was able to track her down.”

“And you were going to tell me that _when_?” Cassian demanded venomously. Even Azriel looked pissed, equally for Feyre’s safety and for a breach in security. 

“Whenever I found the damn time,” I spat back, “because as you can see, I’ve been very short on that recently.”

“How did he find her?” Amren asked, eyes blazing. It was comforting to know Amren hated the prick just as much as me. Judging from the lethal rage in her eyes, probably more. 

“She still had her iCloud connected to his account. I wonder why he didn’t show up days before, but then again, he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Mor snorted. “Fuckin tool. I like that. Tamlin the Tool.”

I blinked, then refocused, but kind of liking the sound of that as well. “Anyways, he found her but she didn’t let him in. He didn’t see her or hear her, but he still thinks that she’s staying there. For now that gives us some sort of upper hand before he finally figures out that she’s living here.”

Cassian said, “That’ll be a nice homecoming gift if I could sucker punch him in the face.” 

“Aim for the balls.” Mor commented quietly.

“I don’t get it. He showed up at the condo. What does what I said have anything to do with that?”

I swallowed hard. I hesitated over whether or not I should’ve told them right away, not knowing if Feyre would’ve wanted it or not, or if she would’ve rather telling them herself. But after tonight, I thought a little sensitivity might be best for her. 

Saying the words always felt unreal. Thinking of it, being back up on the rooftop, the moment she leaned forward and I could see her dead, crumpled body in my mind, never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. It was like that constant aching feeling, the one that festered in my chest for so long, slowly leaking back in like dark ink spreading across a white sheet. 

“When I got there a half hour later, Feyre was in the middle of a suicide attempt.”

Mor dropped the Monopoly pieces. Cassian’s head sunk into his hands. Azriel released a sigh and leaned back into the couch. Even Amren’s eyes dropped, her head turned away to gaze at the window looking out onto the street. 

“What did she—” Mor wondered lowly, but I cut her off. 

“I’m not saying how, what happened or anything about that. But I got her help, and I’ve been watching her over the weekend. She will tell you if she feels like it when she is ready, and that is that. But I thought you should know. So we could avoid these kinds of…situations.”

There were a few beats of silence. Amren finally pushed off the couch and went to collect her things. She didn’t say a word as she put on her shoes and count then closed the door behind her. It was expected of her; her range of emotions over the years I knew her were limited. But this one was something that didn’t present itself often. 

Shame. 

After a few more seconds, Mor said, “I should go talk to Feyre.”

“No, I’ll go,” Cassian said quietly. “I’m the one that left her alone. I should’ve been there.” With that, he took Feyre’s glass of wine from her chair’s side table and wandered up the steps. Mor finally looked to me, then came and sat beside me on the arm of my chair, her hand settling gently on my shoulder. 

“I’m sorry we ruined game night.” She murmured. I laughed, and put my hand atop hers. 

“It’s okay. I knew this was going to be a disaster.”

“And I’m sorry that you were the one who found her, Rhys,” Azriel added quietly. “I know it can’t be easy after…”

I nodded as he trailed off, unwilling to let those memories back into my consciousness either. “Thank you, brother.”

***

Feyre

I laid on Rhys’s guest bed, numb. It’d been only a few minutes since I’d marched up the stairs and closed the door behind me before dragging myself to bed and letting myself drain out. 

It was like poison within me, this dread. Soaking through my skin and staining the sheets and mattress beneath me. A cloud that always loomed behind me, far enough not to notice, but ready to rain down upon me whenever the time was right. I drenched in its waters now and let it wash over me with its all-consuming misery. 

A soft knock sounded at the door, then Cassian’s head poked around the corner. He took one look at me, then said, “Somebody’s taken my bed as a hostage.”

I threw a pillow at him. He caught it with ease, a smile on his face, before wandering over to my side. I slid over so he had enough space to sit down next to me. Cassian took my hand in both of his huge ones, their warmth leeching into my cold skin. 

“I’m sorry about before. I’m just too fucking sensitive and—”

“Feyre, you don’t have to explain yourself.” He sighed and found my gaze. All I could see in his hazel eyes was pain and concern, bleeding for me, I knew. Quietly, he said, “Rhys told us what happened.”

My chest deflated, but the feeling in my chest wasn’t anger. It was relief. Relief that quickly morphed into embarrassment. I could barely look him in the eye, and all I managed to say was, “Oh.”

“I’m not pushing you to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I am here for you. No matter what, no matter when, one text, one call or email or fuck it, I even have a fax machine—”

I chuckled at that. “I get the point.”

“All I’m saying,” he smiled, “is that I am here for you. We all are. And I should’ve been there for you that night at the condo, and I am so sorry that I wasn’t.” 

“It’s not your fault, Cassian,” I murmured, covering our hands with my other one. “You couldn’t have known.”

Cassian nodded, but my thoughts clouded over as I thought of that night again, the moment I’d heard _his_ voice through the door. Looking at our hands together, my eyes wandered up his arms to his biceps, nearly thicker than my thighs, and thought of our time together at the gym. When we worked out, when he guided me through each punch, each kick, I felt like lightning incarnate. He’d armed me with all I needed about self-defence, about fending off an attacker. We’d gone through motions time after time, and he’d drilled me with counter-moves, defensive positions, where to strike and when. 

But it’d all emptied from my head whenever I’d faced _him_. In that ring, I felt like fire. But against my fiancee, I felt like a drop of water in the hurricane I was _supposed_ to be. 

“What’s wrong?” The question was quiet. Like he knew prodding wasn’t a good idea, that it would unseal Pandora’s box of darkness ready to careen open inside of me. Maybe it was time I let some of the tendrils slip out. 

Unable to meet his eyes, I said, “After everything you taught me, after all the hours we spent together training, it all flew out of my head as soon as I faced him. As soon as I heard him.”

There was no need to specify who he was. The hard look on Cassian’s face said enough. 

“I should’ve done more. I should’ve told Rhys, convinced you to get out of there sooner, been there at the condo that night—”

“No,” I said, shaking off his protests, because they were fruitless. “Nothing was going to change my mind about leaving, Cassian. Nothing but what happened that day.” More tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I was so fucking sick of _crying_. “In the time I needed it most, everything you gave me was for nothing. I forgot what you taught me. I _forgot_ how to live, and I _forgot_ I was strong.”

“You know what I taught you.” Cassian said, his hand leaving mine to settle on my shoulder. His hazel eyes clung to mine with hope and tenacity. “You _survived_. You got out of there. You _are_ strong.”

“Maybe I was in the past,” I whispered, throat thick with tears, “but not anymore. I don’t know…” I shook my head, closing my eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, where I’m going to live, how I’m going to support myself in the long run—I don’t know who I _am_ anymore.”

“Come here,” he said, and I leaned up in the bed for him to wrap his arms around me. My tear-stained cheeks soaked his t-shirt. “We’ve been here with you every step through this. You can stay with Rhys as long as you want, because I know for damn sure he doesn’t mind, and you just told us today that we’ve got a job lined up for you right now. Judging by Rhys’s salaries, you will be very well off before the month is up.” I snorted, and he squeezed me tighter. “And about knowing who you are Feyre, well—the best thing about not knowing who you are is that you can create who you want to be from here on out.” He pulled back so he could meet my eyes once more. “You can be anyone you’ve dreamt to be, Feyre. Nothing is stopping you anymore.” He cracked a smirk of his and added, “Just not a pimp. I don’t think I could support you if you became a pimp.”

I let out another stream of laughter as he hugged me close once more. Then I realize he’d brought not only my wine glass, but the entire bottle up with him. We both took turns taking sips, talking and laughing the night away, until the clock read half-past midnight and he said that Rhys would whip his ass if he was late to work in the morning.

***

By my third heaving into the porcelain bowl, Rhys had rushed into the bathroom and was pulling back my hair. I sagged against the toilet, spitting a wad of bile into the water, and let out a low, painful moan. 

“Nightmare?” Rhys murmured as he pulled my hair away from my face. I let out what sounded like a grateful sigh, then heaved once more. 

“Wine,” I choked out, spitting once more into the bowl.

From behind me, I could hear his chuckle and threw him a vulgar gesture above my shoulder.He only laughed some more, and kept smoothing my hair back in a calming, comforting way. Another wave of nausea bloomed, and I was vomiting once more. 

“Back in the academy, we used to smuggle in alcohol by sewing it into our clothes. Never anything too big, bottles like the ones you get in mini-bars, but enough of them to get us properly wasted. They only every caught us because we’d wake up in pools of our own vomit. We spent those days hosing down our rooms, then doing the old-school toilet toothbrush cleaning in everyone’s bathrooms as punishment.”

I wrinkled my nose as I panted. Even the thought of more alcohol had my toes curling. 

Rhys said quietly, “I try not to drink often, though. After the incident I told you about and leaving my job, I got bad for a little while. Obviously you know who came busting down my door after I shut myself in for nearly a month.” His hand was now travelling up and down my back. I closed my eyes and focused on that soothing touch instead of the riot in my stomach. “Vodka. That used to be my poison. I don’t touch the stuff anymore if I can help it.”

“Whiskey,” I said, then spat. “When I was still living at home, that’s what my dad drank. Whiskey. It was like water to him.”

He murmured, “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged my shoulders, then reached up to flush. Pushing off the toilet seat, I went over to the sink and rinsed out my mouth and splashed some water on my face, then popped two Advils just to be safe (Rhys only left five of them in a small container in his medicine cabinet, which I told him was excessive, but he said was cautionary). When I turned back, I saw him sitting back against the wall, his eyes closed. I wandered over to him, stumbling with the remaining effects of alcohol, and sank down at his side, our shoulders touching. His warmth was intoxicating. 

“Nothing to be sorry about.” I dismissed. My head turned to examine him. His eyes were still closed, like he was sleeping. He looked so at peace like this, head tilted back, hair pressed down against his scalp from his pillow, features relaxed. 

Beautiful. 

Quietly, I said, “You told them.”

He opened one eye, then the other, and told me, “I didn’t know what else to do. And I didn’t mention any specifics or details.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Rhys,” I sighed, closing my eyes once more. My body felt tingly from the lingering buzz. “I’m honestly relieved. I don’t know how I would’ve explained myself.”

“You don’t owe anyone any explanations.”

I snorted. “Suriel said that. He also told me not to drink, but here I am.”

A pause. Then, “Feyre.”

“Oh, Rhys, it was harmless—”

“ _Feyre_.”

“What?” I snapped.

He turned so he was facing me, and put both hands on my shoulders. “If you’re going to get better, if you want to make progress, you have to listen to him. Even though it might be stupid and you feel like it doesn’t seem so bad, you have to listen to him. He is trying to help you.”

“But it was a few drinks!” I cried. 

“You were throwing up thirty seconds ago!” Rhys said. His eyes were sharp steel as he said, “I promised I would help you, but you’ve got to put the work in as well. You’ve got to hold up your end of the bargain. Okay?”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I don’t see how wine will impediment my progress, though.”

Rhys laughed, and his hand reached up to curl a piece of hair behind my ear. “Go to bed, darling.”

That night, I didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or the lasting effects of the night, but I slept soundly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hope you're all staying happy and healthy. Stay home, we're in this together!  
> Your comments truly are lovely. Thank you so much for your support!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat


	20. Hopeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fresh air and a little bad news for our main characters. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Hopeless by Halsey
> 
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6W2dG3fcdks
> 
> TW: Mention of dark thoughts and abuse.

_** Chapter 19: Hopeless ** _

“Okay, so this button here is my calendar. It’s all colour coded by level of importance so I ignore the stuff that doesn’t matter and prioritize the things that need my absolute focus.”

Rhys had been teaching me little things here and there about the tasks I’d need to do while working for him, despite the fact that I hadn’t agreed to anything yet. He was meticulous about everything; organized his life to the very minute. 

“So what’s this box here in green?”

“That’s Cassian’s appointment with me today. He says it’s to look over possible changes security codes in the building, but I know it’s just to whine to me about his salary being lower than Amren’s.”

“Okay, and this one in red over here?” It read: _Extremely important lunch with extremely important person._

“That’s our lunch date tomorrow, darling. Can’t quite miss that, can I?”

I slapped Rhys on the arm and he chuckled before setting his laptop down and heading for the kitchen. He came back with two mugs of coffee, and I thanked him quietly before he sat down next to me. 

“I wasn’t told of this lunch date. What’s the extremely important matter we’re discussing?”

Rhys smirked. “Well, we have a few items to go over for your contract, and I need your signature for official documents and the such. Are you ready to sign on at Night Industries?”

I took a sip of my coffee, glancing up at him over the rim. “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Tease,” he said before rifling around some more on his laptop. “Have you got a CV prepared?”

“I’d love to give you that, but it’s pretty blank. And my references wouldn’t quite answer if you called.” Andras, for obvious reasons, and the CEO of Spring Corp, for other obvious reasons. 

Rhys shook his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question. Nonetheless, I am looking very forward to it.”

I sighed and lounged across the couch, the very same one that Cassian and Mor sat upon last night before flipping the table during our absolutely failed attempt at playing a peaceful game of Monopoly. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Don’t you have better things to do than asking me that question over and over again?” Rhys replied as his fingers tapped away at his keyboard. 

“Well, there are a few movies on Netflix that seem to be calling my name, but I’m sick of television.”

Rhys jammed his finger on the enter button, and the sound of an email sending filled the room before he closed the top of his laptop. “Let’s go for a walk, then.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A walk?”

“Fresh air. It’ll do us both some good.”

I looked down at the clothes I was wearing, old sweatpants and a hoodie. Rhys only rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you in worse, darling. Come on. Let’s go.”

***

The park in upper east Prythian was still gleaming with rain from yesterday’s showers. Gravel crunched beneath the sneakers I wore, still muddy and damp. Rhys didn’t seem to mind as his gaze wandered to the river flowing beside us. In the park, others had gathered despite the overcast clouds threatening to unleash their wrath upon us at any moment. We’d driven over and parked the car a few miles back, and walked in silence amongst the sounds of city life surrounding us. 

“Do you come here often?” I asked quietly. We’d settled on a bench looking out upon the water before us. Dog-walkers and joggers passed by, just another blip in their daily routine, seemingly so mundane in such an overturned world. Well, overturned for me, completely and perfectly normal for everyone else, though I knew it wasn’t fair to make that assumption. 

Pain wasn’t exclusive to one person. Suffering was a whore, and fucked over anybody in its wake. 

Rhys said, “I used to.”

“Before?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

He blew out a breath and shrugged. “Lots of shit happened. I can’t even keep track of it all anymore.”

To keep our minds on something lighter, something better, I asked him, “I know you say your employees are your family, but what about the rest of it? Parents? Siblings?”

He chuckled at the first bit and ran a hand through his hair as the wind picked up and whipped at our clothes. “My _friends_ ,” he corrected, “are family first, employees second.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “My parents and I had a house on the outskirts of the city, but my mom wanted us to live in Illyria. Her and I moved there after she got pregnant with my little sister, to my dad’s utmost frustration. He finally came to join us when my sister was born, and we lived there all together for a little while until he had to go back. My mom refused to join him.”

“They didn’t get along, I’m guessing?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t the best of pairings, to say the least, but they understood each other. And underneath all of it, they loved each other.”

It made me think of my own parents. How everything had gone to shit so quickly after my mother got sick, how my dad fell apart in the aftermath. I didn’t remember much of her, my mother—but I remembered the fallout after her, of which I still sheltered myself from all these years later.

“Where are they now?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “About fifteen blocks away from my house.”

“They live so close by and you’ve never mentioned them?”

“I visit them every week. At the cemetery.”

Oh. Oh, gods. I was a horrible person. “I’m so sorry, Rhys.”

He shrugged. “House fire.” A few seconds later, he added, “A freak accident.”

We were quiet for a few moments longer, and I said, “My mother died, too. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.” Talking about death hurt the most, because what else were we supposed to say to each other? How do any words even attempt to fix the burning voids within us stemmed from their absences? What truly stung, though, was that my mother never even held a true space within me—I did not know her, I only knew the aftermath of her disappearance. 

Rhys stood from the bench and wandered over to the river’s edge. He leaned over the ledge of the metal railing, staring down at the thrumming waters, below, and sighed. I took up spot next to him, our biceps pressed together, and the warmth of his touch grounded me despite the cold around us. 

I stared at him as he stared out across what seemed like a vast, endless being soaring in front of us. And the lingering pain on his face, clouded with memories unknown to me, was enough for me to say, “You know, this goes both ways. I can talk to you, and you can talk to me. Whenever you need.”

Rhys dragged his gaze away from the Sidra and wondered, “A thought for a thought?”

“What do you mean?”

“I say something on my mind, then you say something. Like a trade.”

My nails dug into the skin around my thumb, a nervous habit I’d never seemed to drop, and winced at the tearing skin. “Okay.”

“I’m thinking that sometimes I want to wipe this whole city off the map so I can start over, and buy us a little more time. I’m thinking that I was an idiot to ever let Hybern sink its teeth into my company and fool us all. I’m thinking that for the rest of my life I’ll be trapped under their thumb, that I’ll be trapped under that _bitch_ and all the havoc she caused my people and I.”

I could only focus on that slip of information. Trapped under who? What woman could’ve caused the agony shining on Rhys’s face, so blindingly painful that he winced at her very memory?

At the question on my face, Rhys only added, “There’s a bit more to the story about my history with Hybern.” Looking upon the peaceful scenery before us, it seemed like a shame to poison it with our misery-soaked words. “It’s for another time and place.”

Maybe it was because of the jagged pieces of truth that he offered me, but it filled with a sort of courage and recklessness that had me quietly murmuring, “I’m thinking that I must have been a fool in love to allow myself to be shown so little of Spring Corporations. I’m thinking there’s a great deal of information and secrets and shady bullshit I wasn’t allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would’ve lived in ignorance for the rest of my life like some fucking pet.

“I’m thinking,” the words choked up in my chest as Rhys’s gaze softened, full of concern and empathy, “that I was a lonely, helpless person, and I fell in love with the first person that showed me a shred of kindness. Of safety. I think he knew that—maybe not entirely, or actively, but he wanted to be that person for someone. A protector, a guardian. And that may have worked for the person I was before. But maybe not for the person I became. Not after…” I couldn’t breathe those words yet. Not after I shot those two people, not after life had gloriously and marvellously fucked me over completely. And though the words were selfish and hateful despite everything he’d done for me, they were a beam of truth I’d kept far, far down in my withered soul, tucked away even from myself. 

I’d been gone merely two weeks, and I was already shitting all over his name. I was no better than him, no better than the angered man who’d done everything to keep me subdued. 

“That was five. I owe you two thoughts.”

“Keep them. For another time.”

We both looked at each other for a moment, wind off the briny waters ruffling our hair. Rhys murmured, “Suriel used to do this thing at our appointments. Rate my mood on a scale.”

I nodded my head. “I did that, too.”

“I feel like a solid seven, today,” Rhys said. “You?”

I debated it for a few brief seconds, then admitted, “Four.” Better than yesterday, but still not enough.

“Okay.” He tucked my hair behind my ear, and it felt so natural I didn’t even blink at the gesture. “How about I cook some Mac and cheese for dinner tonight. Would that bring you up to a five?”

I only grinned, the slightest curve upwards of my lips, and said, “Four point three.”

***

We sat before the TV, bowls of macaroni and cheese in hand, watching the news. Nothing really exciting—preparations for the upcoming city summit, a shooting in the west end of town, a puppy parade for the local shelter. Rhys told me about the dog he had when he was younger, a loyal German Shepard he adored—but ultimately had to give away after it literally chewed through a wall. It took all of Rhys’s strength and will to keep his father from shooting it. 

When we were done, Rhys and I brought our bowls to the kitchen, and I filled the sink up with soapy water to wash the dishes. He did so much for me, carved too much time out of his day for my sake, that it was the least I could do. Despite my protests, he still stood beside me to wipe them dry, our elbows grazing whenever I passed him another rinsed plate. The townhouse was quiet, peaceful with only the soft hum of the TV behind us, that I wasn’t even surprised when it blared _Breaking_ _News_ and ruined the moment. 

Rhys shut off the sink and I wiped my hands on a nearby dishtowel before we quickly meandered back to the couch before in the family room. The news reporter was saying words, words that didn’t even make sense—

Then _he_ was there, right there on the screen, as though he fucking knew I was watching him. 

Everything else around me disappeared as the CEO of Spring Corporations said, “Thank you for joining me today. Unfortunately, the information I have to share isn’t good, and it breaks my heart to announce that my fiancee Feyre Archeron has gone missing.”

Distantly, I knew that Rhys already had his phone out, probably dialling someone from the Inner Circle to find out what the fuck was going on. I couldn’t listen, couldn’t even _think_ about it as he was standing there at the podium of Prythian Police Station. Cameras flickered and flashed as he paused, then said, “Her location is currently unknown, and she was last seen at Spring Corporations, a safe location she was told to stay until after the scene of our apartment had been cleared, the day of the second attempt on her life. The security footage we gathered shows her being carried out by Cassian Noctis, a current employee at Night Industries.”

“Shit,” Rhys was muttering beside me, “shit, shit, shit—”

“He is currently in custody. His apartment was searched, but Feyre still remains missing. If anyone has any information upon her whereabouts, I beg you to please call the info line on your screen.”

I didn’t think I was breathing. How had they gotten Cassian? When? How come we weren’t called the second it happened?

“Feyre, if you’re seeing this by some miracle,” his voice was thick with tears, and I nearly vomited all over the hardwood floors as his eyes practically bored into mine. “I love you. I swear to all the Gods I will do everything I can to get you back.”

My fingers, with a mind of their own, reached over to the remote and turned the screen off. 

“We need to go. Right now.”

Rhys was saying something else, so many things, but I was spinning. 

It’s like I could still feel him. I could still feel each and every claw of his control, of his anger—they pinned me to where I sat. 

Even from afar, Tamlin held my head under the water. I was drowning. I was screaming for air, but he shoved me into the deep end and let the waves crash over me. 

“Feyre, we need to leave.” I didn’t realize he was kneeling before me, his eyes filled with desperation. I didn’t feel Rhys’s arms around me as he lead me to the townhouse entrance. As he fed my arms through the jacket and slipped a scarf around my neck, sunglasses in my pocket. We got into his SUV and he careened it down the street and into the city. 

But I was drowning. Consumed by the water. Consumed by the flames in my mind, the towering inferno trapping me. The flames or the fall? Those words played in my mind over and over again as streets passed by in my peripheral vision. 

“I’ll go back.” The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, emotion creeping up my chest and searing my throat as my vision blurred. “I’ll go back, Rhys. It’s okay.”

“Don’t take his bait. Let us figure this shit out before making any decisions.”

“He’s never gonna stop,” I breathed. “I can’t keep letting him destroy you guys. I won’t.”

“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than this to destroy us, Feyre.” He tore into the parking lot and jammed on the breaks when he slid into a space. “Put your glasses on, cover your face with your scarf, and hood up.”

I did as he said automatically, and he came around to my side of the car, equally concealed as me, before we sped to the front doors of the PPS. There were press and cameras everywhere, but I kept my head down, trying to follow Rhys’s tugs on my arm forward and into the station. The yells and ruckus were sealed off as soon as the doors shut behind us. 

Mor was instantly there, despite the cops’ protests, and Rhys snarled, “Why the hell wasn’t I called?”

“You were called as soon as we knew, Rhys, which was about ten fucking minutes ago. They’ve had him all afternoon without telling us. We thought he left early.”

“Where’s Azriel?”

“On his way. Cassian hasn’t said anything. Amren’s finally in there with him, but we’re not saying a fucking thing.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong, Mor. They’ve got nothing on us.”

“They do until we say otherwise. If we want to clear ourselves, we need to tell them everything.”

_Everything_. I knew what everything meant. Everything was every bruise, every scar and every cut on my body at his mercy. Everything meant all of me, surrendering my shrivelled soul. 

After all they’d done for me, I couldn’t think of anything else to help them. Show them what he did to me, or waltz right back into my prison in chains for the rest of my life. 

Mor and Rhys were arguing, and didn’t realize when I stepped up to the counter, peeling off my hood, my glasses, and said, “My name is Feyre Archeron and I’d like to speak with whoever’s in charge of this case. Alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope we're all still doing well.  
> Seeing as though I haven't left my house in a while, writing has been my only outlet right now. Got a few more chapters coming your way in the next few days :)  
> I know we're all getting sick of the angst (honestly I'm getting exhausted just writing it) but I still need to ride out, because I want this to be as realistic as possible, and the reality is that it takes a while to recover from a mental crisis. But, I promise, I'll be putting more happy scenes as well in the chapters to come :)  
> Stay safe everyone, and stay home. Love you!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (illyrianwingspans on tumblr)


	21. Everybody Loves You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interrogation, and an overall shit night. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Everybody Loves You by Charlotte Lawrence. This song is one of my favourites, if you haven't listened to any of the other song suggestions, I really recommend this one. So heartbreaking and perfectly fitting for this story.  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dxwuzioSgJI
> 
> TW: Mentions of abuse and self-harm. Please read with caution.

_** Chapter 20: Everybody Loves You ** _

“The footage shows you being taken away from Spring Corporations by Cassian Noctis. By the looks of it you were sedated, and he carried you down to the parking garage where the getaway car was waiting to transport you. He was aided by Alis Cedarwood, who helped him with the locks and security codes.”

The stainless steel table beneath my forearms was just as cold as the festering emptiness in my bones. I didn’t even look up to detective Hanson as I croaked, “And did you scan the footage twenty minutes before that? When my fiancee was dragging me away from the elevator as I tried to escape?”

“The rest of the footage was blank. Only Mr. Ivy and his associates leaving while you stayed in your office.”

I snorted. Everything felt distorted, like reality was caving in on itself. “Of course he did.”

“Tamlin filed a missing person’s report. He’s been trying to find you for over two weeks now.”

I flinched at the sound of his name.

“Oh, I know. He tracked me through my phone and tried to break into Cassian Noctis’s condo. I had to hide away from him.”

“You were kidnapped, Mrs. Ivy. It’s okay that you’re in shock.”

“I’m not in shock, and don’t you _dare_ call me that. He is not my husband, and I was not kidnapped.”

Detective Hanson sighed and sat down across from me, opening up the beige file on the table. My picture was in it, along with a pile of annotated documents I couldn’t read from where I sat. The man was older, in his fifties maybe, with salt and pepper hair and hard lines marking his face. His blue eyes were void of any emotion as he asked, “Then please, explain. If you weren’t kidnapped, then why haven’t you contacted us before? Why let this drag on for so long?”

“I haven’t contacted you because tonight was the first time I heard he’d filed a missing person’s report. After he nearly broke into Cassian’s apartment, I thought maybe he would’ve—but never heard anything since. I just wanted to leave him and be done with it.”

“You wanted to leave him.”

A statement more than a question, and I only nodded my head. 

“Why?”

I could’ve written an entire damn thesis on why I wanted to leave him, _needed_ to leave him, but I only said, “Call in Morrigan Noctis.”

He only lifted a brow, and made a beckoning signal above his shoulder to the mirror—which I knew was a one-way glass window on the outside. We sat in silence for the few minutes it took before the door opened, and in came Mor, her eyes instantly finding mine and filled with worry. 

“Close the door.”

It shut behind her with a creaking noise. I did not look at either of them when I breathed, “Show him the pictures.”

The pictures of my destruction. The ones Mor knew would be useful one day, despite everything that screamed in my head during those agonizing moments not to do it. Hesitantly, she pulled out her phone and tapped around until it sat on the table. 

I could see the outline of a bruise on my ribs, and I bit my lip, averting my eyes. I couldn’t look at them. I refused to go back into those moments of pure horror. 

Detective Hanson swiped through the photos, a cold, glinting look in his eyes. When he reached the end, he looked up to me and said, “Tamlin Ivy did this to you?”

The sound of his name reverberated through me. I did not stutter or hesitate as I replied, “Yes.”

“You may leave now, Ms. Noctis.”

Mor gave a nod of her head, looked once more at me with pure strength and determination in her eyes. I was grateful for that look, and tried to feel even an ounce of the those conveyed emotions.

Once the door shut softly behind her, Detective Hanson said, “Just to be clear, the statement you’re giving is that you left Spring Corporations willingly.”

“Yes.”

“This wasn’t a kidnapping, you weren’t blackmailed—”

“No,” I seethed, “I am not being fucking blackmailed.”

“Look, Ms. Archeron, I’m trying to do my job. You were engaged to Tamlin Ivy, CEO of Spring Corporations, then found with one of the heads of Night Industries after being supposedly missing for two weeks. I wouldn’t put it past either companies to pull some kind of sick stunt for the purpose of their feud.” It was common knowledge that the two hated each other—almost like a game they’d been playing with the city of Prythian as their audience all these years. Hanson splayed his hands across the file, and held my gaze as he said, “The only thing that concerns me here are the facts. The fact was they provided me with video footage that lead me believe you’d been taken against your will. But now with the pictures Ms. Morrigan just brought up, I’m inclined to believe you.” His eyes fluttered across the file before him, and he added, “It’s not a crime to cut ties with someone. The people you left may not understand, may want answers—but you don’t owe them anything. It is your life, and it is your right to exercise your free will. Your privacy will be respected, Feyre, I can promise you that.”

Relief settled in my stomach and I closed my eyes, grateful tears stinging at my throat. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to press charges against Mr. Ivy? For the assault?”

“No,” I shook my head, “I just want to go home. I need to go home.”

“I just need you to sign a few things first then you’ll be on your way, Feyre.”

I looked down at the sheet and pen he placed in front of me and began to scrawl in my personal information. Address, phone number, email, signature and initials. 

Hanson did a once over of the papers, then, for the first and only time during our interaction, gave me a warm smile. “You’re free to go.”

***

Hanson and I walked back down the bright hallway, away from the interrogation room, through the office cubicles around the police station. The officers were either on phone calls, filling out paperwork or speaking to people seated beside their desks. Despite the loud room, we continued on to the double doors beyond where the main space was, filled with civilians and cops alike. 

The eruption of noise hit me as we approached the doors. My brows furrowed, and I looked to Hanson, who only heaved a sigh before pushing open against the handle. 

In that moment, two pairs of eyes shot to me. Rhys’s, filled with relief—and fear. 

The second pair, the ones I’d learned to love, adore and fear, looked at me with disbelief. 

They morphed into something other than rage. Something more potent, more vile, more abhorrent than I’d ever seen. Even from across the room, his gaze burned through me, and I felt myself disintegrating into a pile of ashes at my feet.

I completely froze. Ice held my feet planted on the tile floor beneath me, and all I could do was stare at _him_ while the terror crept up my spine and threatened to snap me in half. 

_Move_ , my mind whispered. _Don’t give him this. Do_ not _give him this._

I’d given him too much already. I’d given him every piece of my fucking soul only to find it scattered across the barren battlefield of our love. Here I was, still picking up the pieces. 

Two officers continued to hold him back as I slipped into my coat, scarf and slid the glasses back over my eyes. In order to put one foot in front of the other, in order to keep shoving breaths in and out of my lungs, I thought only of the bed waiting for me at home, knowing I would plunge into oblivion, and stay there for a long, long while. 

***

The lights were still on inside the house when we got back. 

I hadn’t said a word. I didn’t think I could. Not after the hurricane that swept through the night; not after seeing his face, feeling him so close to me again. 

Rhys… despite it all, his face remained concentrated. Impassive. The only blip of emotion was relief, relief and concern as we both finally settled back in the car after trying to fly through the crowd of reporters. I prayed they didn’t get any good shots. 

We barely made it to the kitchen before the door opened once more behind us. I flinched, expecting to see _his_ face again, but it was Cassian who strode through the main hallway, his eyes meeting mine for only a second before his arms were wrapped around me. 

“I’m so sor—” Cassian tried to murmur in my ear, but I shook my head against his chest. 

“No,” I mumbled, “I’m sorry, Cassian. You shouldn’t have gotten tangled up in this. It’s my fault.”

“It is nobody’s fault except that Tool’s. Do not blame yourselves for a second.” Mor chimed in as she breezed past us, heading for the fridge. She pulled out a piece of chocolate and took a bite out of the bar. Pulling away from Cassian, I spotted the look of annoyance on Rhys’s face as the two made themselves at home. 

Rhys said, “You know, we could really use a calm evening after all that bullshit.” 

“But I’m out of booze,” Cassian pouted. Rhys rolled his eyes, but nodded his head, and Cassian looked like a damn Cheshire Cat as he made his way over to Rhys’s liquor cabinet. 

The front door opened once more and in strode Amren and Azriel. The woman took one look at me, a charged, electric moment after what’d gone down last night, and I merely nodded. She did so once, a dip of her chin in return, and that was that. She didn’t seem like the ‘talk it over’ type. 

“That was close. That was really fucking close, Rhysand, and I don’t trust this at all.” Amren quipped before hopping up on the counter. 

“I know,” the dark haired main sighed, “we should’ve been on top of that.”

“Hybern probably kept it quiet for a reason to take us by surprise. We know he has his fangs in the Prythian Police Department.” Azriel added quietly from beside me. 

I stared at Cassian who was pouring himself a half-glass of scotch. My mouth was dry after speaking with detective Hanson, and all I wanted right now was a fucking drink. Suriel’s warning sounded in my head and I knew I shouldn’t, but it was so tempting and my patience had thinned after all that’d happened tonight. 

“What’s our next move?” Mor wondered as she made her way through the chocolate bar. 

Amren said, “We need more information. Anything we can get on these guys—their goals, their next target…”

“We all know what he wants,” Cassian said as he took a sip of his drink. “He wants Illyria.”

“And Ivy wants Feyre.” Azriel added. I tried as best as I could to not let my mind settle on what he just said. Azriel’s voice was smooth as shadows. He seemed to blend into the background, even now as he leaned against the kitchen counter beside the fridge. 

Their voices piled up amongst each other as they argued where to go next, who to find, old files to dig through—but I was only watching Rhys as his eyes seemed to search his kitchen island. It was like a puzzle laid out before him, like a scattering of stars in the sky, and he was connecting the dots to form a constellation. 

“The Bone Carver,” Rhys suddenly said. 

Eyes snapped up, and my brow furrowed. How more fucking ominous could he be? 

“The Bone Carver. He knows everything about anything illegal. We should set up a meeting.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?” Amren snapped. 

Rhys only looked to them and said, “I’ve got old friends at the penitentiary. I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”

“It’s a long shot, Rhys,” Mor countered. 

He shrugged his shoulders, a thin, and his mouth formed a thin, sad line on his face. “What else do we have?”

Cassian sighed. “I’m sure as hell not going.”

“No. But I know someone who might need a first assignment on the job.” Rhys winked at me. 

My breath hitched in my throat. No, the Bone Carver did not sound like a friendly face to meet. 

“By the Gods. You’re going to scare her away before we’ve even had the chance to go to brunch,” Mor whined, then paraded over to the family room. The others trailed along behind her, bantering about some football game at U of P the other day, but Rhys and I remained in the kitchen for a few moments longer. 

Fury, it was pure lethal fury on _his_ face as those cops struggled to hold him back—

“I need a drink,” I finally muttered as I opened up his liquor cabinet as quietly as I could. 

“Feyre—” Rhys warned from behind me as I pulled out a bottle of tequila. 

“I’ve had a really fucking shit night, Rhys,” I said quietly as I took a stray glass from the counter. He was quiet as I filled it halfway with tequila, took a sip, then went over to the sink to fill the rest up with water. “And I know I shouldn’t be drinking, I know it’s not a good way to cope, but my only other way of dealing with this right now is locking myself in the bathroom with something sharp. So, please, just let me drink.”

Rhys didn’t say a word as I brought the glass to my lips and began downing it. It stung my throat, it burnt my stomach and made me want to heave all over the kitchen, but I sucked it down like it was fucking ambrosia, because the only thing I saw in my mind was red bathwater and swollen welts. 

When I looked to Rhys, his face was devastated. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t answer him before I went upstairs and locked myself in my room.

***

The house was quiet as I traipsed over to the bathroom. 

It was the middle of the night. I’d woken up curled in my bed on top of the sheets, not even bothering to kick my shoes off. The tequila had knocked me out cold, but I still felt it in my stomach, making me sluggish and lethargic. Water. I needed water. 

Hunched over the sink, I gulped down a few mouthfuls from the faucet before turning it off. When I lifted my head up and stared at myself in the mirror, I saw a woman staring back at me. 

A woman I wouldn’t recognize if I saw her walking down main street. 

I needed something. Every cabinet I dug through was empty or just stocked with necessities: soap, toilet paper, an old bottle of sunscreen—

Nothing here. Nothing useful for me. 

But there was this living ball of white, paralyzing panic in my chest, and I knew the only relief I could offer it was a sharp-edged blade. My fingers gripped the counter top, a choked breath rattling from my throat, and my feet nearly stumbled towards the bathtub. Shaking, my legs quietly cleared the ledge until I could squat down and finally rest back against the head of the tub, my feet extending before me. 

I looked to the side and found a sponge. It wasn’t much, but it distracted my fingers as I rode out the wave, the nagging urge and itch in my skin, and squeezed the sponge tightly in my right fist. Open, close. Open, close. It was the only thing my mind could focus on. 

I didn’t even hear the door open. But when my eyes opened, Rhys was there, standing at the threshold of the bathroom, a question mark on his face. 

“What.”

“You’re awake,” Rhys said as he crossed over and stood beside me, hands in his pockets. He still wore the same jeans and polo sweater from our walk this afternoon, and his dark hair looked tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. As though he’d been staying awake all night, just in case I’d wake up. Guilt found its home within my chest, and I looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes. 

All I could focus on, though, was my hand clenched on the sponge at my side. Open. Close. Open. Close. 

My thighs burned, itching against the material of my sweatpants.

“Just needed some water.”

“What are you doing in the tub, Feyre.” The look in his features, the concern and troubled worry—

I squeezed my eyes shut at the tightness in my chest. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t keep fucking falling apart whenever someone showed me a hint of kindness. Had I been deprived of this basic human sentiment for so long that my body careened every time it appeared?

I focused on the sponge. Open. Close. Open. Close—

Rhys stepped into the porcelain tub before me, as he had all those nights ago when I’d been here washing the blood off my hands. My feet retracted and I curled up, trying to cave in on myself. 

Open. Close. Open. Close.

“Number,” he murmured. 

When I lifted my head to face him, tears crinkled in the corner of my eyes, and my voice wasn’t itself—it was hollow, empty, as I said, “Zero.”

“Feyre.” His voice stumbled on those two syllables. 

“Tonight, when I saw him, when I had to show them those pictures, I felt like a zero. Nothing. Exactly what he turned me into.” I could only stare at my thighs, covered by the thin cotton fabric, as though I could right through it to the cuts below. “Exactly what I felt that night on the ledge, and I didn’t want to let myself fall into that fucking trap again. So I drank, and I didn’t care, because the alternative…”

Open. Close. 

“This is the alternative,” I breathed, “this. Right here.”

“Tell me.” His voice was filled with despair. “Help me understand.”

Open. Close.

Tears streamed down my face. 

“I got into a really bad car accident two years ago,” I explained, “and I killed someone.”

I didn’t think he was breathing. The house was completely silent, save for the rush of cars from the city beyond. 

“He…” I choked as I nearly said his name. “He got me out of it. With the police and everything. The charges just went away, and we carried on like nothing ever happened.

“But I kept seeing that woman.” The images flooded my mind from that night, being stuck beneath the car and the smoke consuming me, the mangled metal surrounding me— “I kept seeing her face in my nightmares. I _killed_ somebody. Not like James and Isaac, not because the situation was them or me—I killed her because I wasn’t paying attention to the road, and I didn’t see the red light. Everything after that just fell apart.

“I dropped out of school. I moved into the apartment. I was pissing away my life just staying at home and doing absolutely nothing. And every night, I’d see her in my nightmares.”

Rhys’s hand, carefully, gently, settled on the cold skin of my shin. His warmth leeched past the fabric covering my leg. A sign, no matter how small or insignificant, of support.

“I didn’t know how to deal with it.” My eyes finally trailed up to meet his. 

Open. Close. 

“I started cutting myself. Don’t,” I choked on the word, not believing that I’d finally said it out loud, “don’t ask me how or why, it just made sense for some reason. Because I hated myself, and I was spinning out of control, and it was the only time that I could fucking feel something after I’d gone so numb.”

His voice as quiet and smooth as midnight, he asked, “For how long?”

“A year. Until he found me one day in the bathtub and thought I was bleeding out.” I didn’t need to specify who it was, because I’d be damned if I ever fucking said his name again. I shook my head, unable to make the horror in his eyes disappear that moment he saw me. “I didn’t hear him knocking.”

“Did you ever see anyone about it?”

“I went to the ER and got stitches, and we never really spoke about it again.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I didn’t want to.” A bubble of hysteric laughter crept up my throat as I stared down at myself. “And now here I am, doing everything I can not to go downstairs and grab a kitchen knife.” I inhaled, and it felt like it was the first breath I’d taken in minutes.

“You need to tell Suriel about this.”

“I know,” I whispered softly. “It’s like there’s so many thoughts trapped in my mind and I don’t have the strength to let them out.”

“You do, Feyre,” Rhys leaned towards me until I felt his fingers on mine, gently prying away the sponge from my hands and setting it down on the ledge above the tub. “You may not see it, but you’re a lot stronger than you think.” His hand found mine once again, and he laced our fingers together.

“It’s going to take a while before I figure that out.” My eyes met his as we crouched there in his tub in the dark. He only tilted his head to the side, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. 

“I know.” He squeezed my hand. “But I’m gonna be right here the entire time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.  
> So, this chapter was exhausting to write. The ending still isn't satisfying for me, and I actually wanted to erase all the mentions of self-harm in this fic because when I looked back on it, I thought it didn't fit. But I'm going to keep it there because I need to. If you've read my other fic, you know I write a lot about self-harm, and to be completely honest, it's because it helps me. As someone who's dealt with these issues in the past, writing about it is like a therapy for me where I can voice everything that I wished I could've when I had the chance. My main concern is that readers think I'm just using it as a tool for character development or as a petty plot point. It's really not that at all. It's for me. If you don't like it or don't agree with it, I'm not going to apologize for what I do to help myself. Because it really does help me, and I hope that if you are currently struggled or have struggled with self-harm in the past that it can hopefully help you to.  
> Also, I don't want it to seem like I'm romanticizing self-harm. It's not something cool or beautiful or whatever, it actually just feels really shameful and embarrassing. But please, if you feel like I may be crossing any sort of lines in any way, or if you just want a friend to talk to, feel free to message me on tumblr (@illryianwingspans), because I'm all ears. 
> 
> In brighter news, I've been posting this fic across on my tumblr so if you prefer to read it over there, give me a follow! I'd love to hear your thoughts about the fic or your reactions if ever you don't have an Ao3 account. Let's keep the discussion going! 
> 
> Hope you're all safe and healthy. And, as always, if ever you're feeling down, just know that there are people out there to help you. The situation we're in is really fucking awful right now, and I just want to let you know that even if you're not being personally affected by the virus, it's okay to feel depressed. It's okay to feel anxious. What we're experiencing right now is unprecedented, and just because we're socially distant doesn't mean we aren't able to reach out to each other.  
> Sending you all my love. Stay safe. 
> 
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (@illyrianwingspans on tumblr)


	22. Donna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Feyre has a business meeting with a potential employer. 
> 
> TW: Vague mentions of self-harm. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Donna by the Lumineers  
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-plAPYbQvg

_** Chapter 21: Donna ** _

Rhys

Like fucking clockwork, I woke with the rising sun. 

It took less than five minutes to peel out of my sheets and pull some clothes on. Two minutes to down the shot of espresso and munch through an apple in the kitchen. One minute to creep back up the stairs quietly and open that door, just the tiniest slit—

Her figure was slumped to the side, arm dangling off the ledge of the bed. But I could see it, that steady up and down of her chest. Alive. Breathing. Peaceful.

_Striking_.

It was the only confirmation I needed before peeling back down the stairs and throwing on a pair of sneakers. As the pink clouds began to fade, my feet slammed against the pavement. The sun was still a blip on the horizon, Prythian wiping away the night’s remaining darkness, and with each song drowning out the noise in my ears more cars began to appear on the road as the rest of the city awoke. Soon enough, I was washed in the rays of sunshine. Sweat soaked through my thin long-sleeve, but I didn’t care. I just kept pushing. 

It’d been three weeks since I ran. But this morning, I felt wired. Like my mind hadn’t turned off last night in its slumber. How could it? Not after what happened yesterday. Not after what Feyre told me last night. 

I’d never felt anything like it before. It was a physical, throbbing ache in my chest, like my heart had truly cleaved in half and spilled all its venomous ichor into my body. 

For some reason, it was worse than watching her perched on the ledge of the roof. Knowing that she’d been so miserable, for far longer than I could’ve imagined—

It struck something within me. Like a pianist crescendoing to the climax of a song only to play the wrong chord. 

And I had no idea how to help her. 

That’s what scared me the most out of all of this—despite my best efforts, Feyre’s condition was beyond my abilities. I’d done all I could out of my own personal experience to try and assuage the difficulties she’d experienced in the last three weeks, but this…

Last night, I felt completely and utterly useless. That was the worst part, I thought, about seeing someone you care about struggle with mental health issues—knowing that there is very little you can do to help. All I had were my words, carefully chosen to goad her into speaking as much as she comfortably would, and gentle enough to tell her that I was there for her, that I would support her. But all I wanted to do, all my instincts roared at me to do, was hold her. Hug her against me. Tell her that I was there, that _I_ cared about her. 

Those feelings pounding within my heart flared up again, and my foot faltered on its next step.

I stopped in my tracks. The rap music was still blaring in my ears. I ripped my earphones out, letting them dangle along my neck, and strode over to a nearby bench as I tried to shove some air into my lungs. 

_Fuck,_ I thought, _I’m so out of shape._

My fingers were already dashing across the screen. Plenty of articles came up after the search, and I scrolled through them, taking screenshots of things that caught my eye. If I didn’t know how to help her, the least I could do was arm myself with some information. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a starting point. 

When the steely pincers of anxiety finally unclamped themselves from my fried nerves, I was off again. There were so many other pieces of the story that seemed to root themselves in my mind, no matter how fast or hard I pushed my body, they never seemed to shake away. 

_I was in a car accident two years ago._

_I killed someone._

It couldn’t have been _her_. No, I refused to hold onto that piece of illogical information my brain was trying to latch itself to. So I blasted my music up higher, and kept running.

***

Feyre

The only thing I knew how to cook was scrambled eggs. 

Dad taught me how. When I was in high school, usually Elain made breakfast so I could have something in the mornings, but no one ever made me lunch. I relied on the lunch service the school provided for the ‘less fortunate’—but I couldn’t use it too often. No, if I went there every day, then the school got suspicious and started asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer. So, once or twice a week I’d go to the Home Ec room and take the cheese sandwich, apple and juice box—it was better than nothing. The counsellor would smile at me, I’d fake a story about sleeping in, missing the bus, anything but the truth that gnawed at the back of my mind. 

We didn’t have money. We lived in a shitty two bedroom condo, bought with the remnants of money my dad had after mom died, and could barely pay for weekly groceries. Utilities, other household bills, dad paid when he was sober enough to read. But groceries came out of my pocket and the penance of a salary I earned as an administrative aid at school. It was only an hour or two after school, and it paid alright, but all the money went towards food. 

My sisters didn’t bat an eye at the effort. They kept on their usual business, attending college on their scholarships. I sure as hell wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship, but the financial aid department took one look at my level of income and offered to pay a hefty percentage, while the rest was covered by student loans. I thought I’d have to work those off for years. 

Until he came along and paid them without even batting an eye. That, and any other outstanding debt my sisters or father had. And, _and_ —I couldn’t leave out the wondrous house he’d bought on the other side of the city. The one we’d both helped my father move the boxes to, the one Nesta and Elain had definitely never visited after they’d moved out. 

I couldn’t help but think about my dad. I wondered what he was doing right now, across the city, by himself. And the first thing that came to my mind was the bottle of whiskey sitting on the floor by his chair. He was always slumped in that chair with a faraway smile on his face. Sometimes I would sit next to him on the second hand couch and we’d watch TV together. Most of the time, I’d take one look at him and storm off to my room to imagine another life where none of it happened. Where mom didn’t die, where we weren’t flat broke, and I wasn’t miserable. 

How I’d gone from the two bedroom condo to this townhouse, I didn’t want to think about. All I knew was that I’d never have to go back there again.

_Because of_ him _._

The front door opened and closed quietly, shaking me from my thoughts. I focused once again on my eggs, dividing both of them into two plates before setting four slices of bread in the toaster. When the footsteps got closer, I turned and saw Rhys there, sweat dripping down his face, rap musing blaring from his earphones. He hadn’t spotted me yet in the kitchen, his eyes on his phone. From where I stood between the stove and the kitchen island, I had a clear view of his hand reaching down to clutch his t-shirt and pull it over his head in one swift movement, ripping the earphones away as well. 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t stare at his chest. Defined and smooth, pure muscle was glistening in the light from the bay windows at the front of the living room. His stomach was hardened, toned yet still soft where the tan skin heaved from his panting. And on his chest, down his biceps—

Tattoos. Beautiful, midnight blue tattoos swirling down his skin in inky swirls, contrasting his tanner colouring. I’d seen them, a peek of them that night at Rita’s, but glancing at them now, I couldn’t help but appreciate the craftsmanship behind such beauty. Art in all forms were difficult to master—but when your canvas was human flesh, it made it all the more impressive. 

And on him, it looked breathtaking.

“Something smells burnt,” he smirked at me, wiping the sweat on his face with his t-shirt.

I gasped, jumping out of my stupor as I turned to the toaster. Of course, the four slices staring back at me were black. Burnt to a mother-fucking crisp.

I sighed. Of course out of the two components of this meal, I’d burn the most idiot-proof one. At least I had a reasonable excuse for it standing in the living room.

“Like what you see, darling?” Rhys called as he clambered up the stairs. 

“Oh, go jump in the shower. I could smell you from down the block.” 

I stared angrily down my plate as I shovelled the eggs into my mouth. The new round of toast was grilling, the toaster on a much lower setting this time, and it popped up by the time Rhys’s footsteps hit the ground level once again. How he’d managed to pull himself together so quickly—tux, gelled hair and shaven face, I had no clue, but I’d be lying to myself if I said he didn’t look immaculate. Nonetheless, I tried my best to ignore his presence after that spout before. 

He grinned as he took me in sitting at the counter. 

“Don’t give me that look.” 

His brows shot up, but that playful, mischievous glint in his eyes remained. “What look?”

“Like a cat just caught a fucking mouse. I have half a mind to dump your breakfast in the garbage.”

“At least it’ll keep that pitiful toast you chucked away from getting lonely.” Nonetheless, he took the four slices from the toaster, deposited two of them on my plate, and dug into his meal perched on the edge of the counter.

“There’s no need to deny that you find me attractive, Feyre. Just try not to ogle me so openly next time. It was very objectifying, to be quite honest.”

My cheeks heated, and I said around my mouthful of buttery bread, “Just when I thought your level self-esteem couldn’t get any higher. You’ll probably be replaying that moment in your mind all day.”

“Got a busy day, darling. Meetings in the morning at the office and a very important lunch date that I simply cannot miss. But I will try to squeeze in some daydreaming.” He pointed at me with his fork, his plate already scraped clean despite starting after me.“Cassian’s coming by to hang out with you after.”

I rolled my eyes. “A babysitter? Seriously?”

Rhys looked over his shoulder from where he stood perching a travel mug beneath this spout of his Nespresso machine. “Not a babysitter, Feyre. A friend. Some company. Someone other than me to talk to.”

“Sending Cassian is like sending a carbon copy of yourself but with more muscle.”

“Firstly, he misses you and wanted to spend some time together. And secondly, _ouch_. You ogle me, then you insult me?” He twisted the cap onto his mug and fished his keys out of the dish by the edge of the counter, making his way towards the door. 

“I’ll make sure to tell the chef to poison you today at lunch!” I called down the townhouse’s main corridor. 

“And I’ll tell Cassian you’ve been dying to try his new CrossFit exercises!”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled to myself nonetheless after the door shut quietly behind him. 

As I gathered the dishes to be washed in the sink, my mind wandered to last night. The two of us hunched in that tub speaking quietly to each other, me unveiling the darkest thoughts curled into the back of my mind. 

I’d never said those words out loud before. With _him_ , we just ignored that it was there in the first place. Lucien and Ianthe only found out because of that one incident at a charity dinner, when Ianthe picked a dress for me without thinking twice about it, and my scars were on display for anyone who got within five feet of me. I outright refused to show up to the stupid thing, but everyone insisted I made an appearance. Once Tamlin saw why, he made an excuse. Those who asked him—because it was impolite to ask me to my face—believed they were scars from the accident.

We all knew it was a lie. Lucien tried talking about it a few times with me, but I pushed him away. How the hell was I supposed to explain that I got so furious with my own mind that I intentionally hurt myself? Every time I tried, there was this burning sensation within my chest. Shame. Shame and crushing embarrassment. 

But last night seemed so…easy. I didn’t know what it was about Rhys. I just always felt the need to tell him the truth. Whether it was because he’d seen me at my worst, or because he seemed to understand me like nobody else ever had. It was so…weird. To have somebody to listen to you after so long spent trapped in the silence. 

Weird, and absolutely terrifying. 

But there was also that festering guilt, and shame—immense shame, for those few moments when I looked at him in the living room. When I… enjoyed looking at him. 

When I enjoyed our quiet dinner together last night. 

I shook my head as I scrubbed the plate, the memory dissolving in my mind. 

***

After Cassian treated me to a gruelling workout at his gym, I found myself back at the house, showered and prepped for Rhys and I’s lunch. Cassian had lingered downstairs to drive me over because Rhys was still caught up in a meeting. 

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I wondered as Cassian and I weaved through streets downtown. Today the city was bright, ripe with activity and flurries of people. The air was slowly getting warmer. Soon I wouldn’t have to wear a jacket anymore. 

“I’ve worked enough over the past two months to take a day off every now and then. Plus, I don’t think my boss cares too much,” Cassian said with a wink. 

True. It was a constant reminder that though these people were his family, he technically pulled rank over them at work, with the investigation. But when they were just together, hanging out, it completely slipped my mind. 

“Are the rest of them at the office, then?”

“Azriel’s pretty much stuck to his computer monitoring any possible anomalies in Hybern’s movements. He’s got someone following him just to be safe, but so far nothing much has happened. Amren’s combing through old files and investigations affiliated with him to see if she can catch anything and researching possible loopholes to prevent him from making the sale for that land. ” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mor’s just trying to keep calm in the building and helping Rhys out as much as she can, but things are starting to get a little chaotic.”

“How do you guys _do_ it all?” I asked, eyes trailing upon the buildings, which seemed to get smaller and smaller as we neared the outskirts of the city. 

He shrugged and said, “We’re fighting together for something we all believe in. You don’t really need much else.”

I looked over at Cassian, his hands gripping the wheel, his face passive and calm as he slowed the car to a stop before a red light. I said, “It’s nice that you all found each other. That you all have each other.”

“And now you’ve got us as well, Archeron. And we’ve got you.”

My eyes burned as I looked out the window once more.

***

I looked up to the restaurant’s blue sign. _Sevenda’s._

No other buildings stood nearby. We were about fifteen minutes out of town, and Cassian had already turned back to Prythian. I was left standing here in the parking lot, clad in my best black knee length dress, staring at a diner. 

Before I could take another step, the front door opened, and there was his smiling face. 

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?”

“We’ll each have your special with some bannock on the side please,” Rhys said without even glancing at the menu. I shifted in the black leather booth, gazing between him and the middle aged, brown skinned woman before us. Her stark black hair was tied back in a braid that fell down past her waist line, nearly catching on the stained apron lining her body.

“It’s been too long, Rhysand. I almost didn’t recognize you when you walked in.” She reached over and ruffled his hair, as though he weren’t the CEO of a major Prythian powerhouse corporation. Her smile was warm and teasing, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Rhys rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re embarrassing me in front of a business partner, Sevenda.”

“What? She’s not your date?” 

My cheeks heated. I took a sip of my water, watching Rhys expectantly, wondering how this entire debacle was going to go. 

“A potential employee,” he corrected her smoothly, shooting a glance my way. “Feyre keeps declining my advances, unfortunately.” 

“I’ll go on a date with you the day you wear something besides black or navy.” I said, jutting my chin out at the dark suit he wore. He must’ve had hundreds of them in his closet. 

“That’s my girl. Don’t be afraid to put this boy in his place, Gods know he needs it.” Sevenda turned towards the kitchen.

“Believe me, she does.” Rhys smirked as our gazes met. His eyes shifted over me appreciatively. “Did I mention you look exquisite today Feyre?”

I replied with an eye roll, “That’s the third time you’ve told me in ten minutes.”

“Just making sure you know how delicious you look in that dress.”

“Do you have any sense of self-control?”

“Of course, but it tends to fade away when a beautiful woman looks at me like that.” He tilted his head towards me and the snarl that lined my lips. 

“Be glad I’m not your employee yet, I think I’d have to file a sexual harassment claim.”

“Yet?” Rhys’s eyes glinted. 

“Well, if you’d get on with your proposition, I could finally make up my mind.”

He cleared his throat. “Night Industries would like to offer you a temporary full-time position as a secretary for yours truly.” I watched as he carefully took a sip of his water, his eyes trained on me the entire time. “Mor usually does a lot of that work for me, but I need her focus on the Hybern investigation right now, and I’m spread out too thin at the moment to try and look for candidates that I know and trust to do the job well. You have some experience in an office. You’ve worked in a cafe for a year now and you know what working under pressure is like. I need that kind of person right now on my team.”

Just as he opened his mouth again, Sevenda burst from the back of the restaurant with a tray perched on her shoulder holding steaming food. Immediately, a rich, aromatic scent filled the quiet space, and my mouth watered. 

Swiftly, as though she’d done this for years, Sevenda slid two plates on the table filled half with rice, half with an orange, creamy stew that made my stomach gargle. She set down two extra plates with what seemed like two round flat buns that were golden and crispy. 

“Enjoy!” She chirped after refilling our glasses. 

I didn’t hesitate as I took my first mouthful. Creamy, warm, sweet, salty—spicy. Not overly so, but just enough for my mouth to heat. The meat was gamey, and the vegetables tasted glorious in the saturated juices. 

“Why is there nobody in this _restaurant_?” I demanded after swallowing my first bite. 

Rhys said, “Well, we’re near the reserve. They mostly only have local regulars and travellers passing through."

I shook my head. “But this is delicious.”

Rhys was beaming. He took one of his flatbreads, bannock I was guessing, and dipped it into the stew. I did so as well, and nearly groaned at the delightful taste. 

Rhys said after swallowing, “I’ve been coming here since I was a child. Restaurants like this don’t really exist in Prythian, and I sure as hell don’t know how to cook this well.”

After another bite, I added quietly, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He only watched me with that intent stare of his, then wondered, “What do you think of my proposal?”

My fork paused halfway down to the plate. “My office experience was limited, and most probably completely different from what working with you will be like.” My lips parted to add something else, _And I don’t know if I can handle the humiliation of learning simple tasks_. Not quite able to meet his gaze, I said instead, “I need to know that you’ll be patient with my learning process.”

“Your first twenty hours of work will be purely training, and should you ever have questions, you never hesitate to ask. We’re a team. We all help each other out.”

“Okay.” I made a gesture in my hand, and he took it as the cue to carry on. 

“Your baseline job is mainly answering phone calls and emails, manning the elevator, scheduling appointments and running other errands for me should I need them. I’ll also probably have other projects on the side concerning the Hybern investigation, like the meeting we’ve got set with the Bone Carver, but those are optional. I understand you may be uncomfortable with those.”

He looked up to me for confirmation, but I said nothing. We were both quiet for a few minutes as we ate our meal, and finally Rhys wiped his mouth with a napkin, took a sip of his water, and laid both of his palms flat on the table. 

“It’s a nine to five job. It’s not necessarily difficult work, but it’s still good work. Something to get you back on your feet. I’m offering it as temporary, but say the word, and we’ll sign you on for good.” He reached into his leather messenger bag and pulled out a leather portfolio case, then slid it over to me. I tentatively opened it up, eyes darting across the document before me. 

“Take the time to read it if you want. It’s legal jargon, but believe me, you’re the last person I’d screw over with fine print bullshit.”

But I wasn’t hearing him, because my eyes had trailed down to the number listed at the top of the second paragraph. It was difficult to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. 

_150 000$ starting salary._

“I can’t accept that.”

He sighed. “I knew you would say that.”

I’d never seen a sum like that in my life, nevertheless in my name. 

“ _Rhys,_ ” I said, “it’s too much.”

“I am paying you in accordance of your work responsibilities, as well as the confidentiality of the information you’re handling. You’ll have control of files and information that could put me under should anything be leaked or spread to the mainstream media. It’s a lot to expect of someone.”

I couldn’t say anything. I could just stare at that contract, unable to meet the eyes of the man who’d veritably given me a new life. No strings attached. 

Just out of the pure kindness of his heart. A friend looking out for a friend. 

There was that part of the back of my mind that was blaring, _this is a red flag. This is him all over again._

But _he_ never _offered_ me the anything. He never gave me time, or space, or options, or a way out. He dictated our live. He had it all laid out for the two of us, the way he wanted it, whether I liked it or not. 

Rhys was giving me a choice. One that I could deny, and continue living under his roof until Gods-know when I got another job, and feel like a pathetic, miserable leech. 

Or I could accept his kindness. I could use this as an opportunity. Maybe not permanent—maybe work that would dress up my CV. A stepping stone. 

I didn’t know what was next, what else the universe had in store for me. But I knew that this job came with a team, my friends, and as Cassian told me earlier in that car, a purpose. I was lacking that, these days. 

So I finally looked Rhys straight in the eyes and said, “Do you have a pen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, y'all, I'm so sorry. I know it's been a hot fucking minute. 
> 
> Needless to say that life just got really hectic over the last two months. My dog unfortunately passed away and things got pretty dark for me for a little while, but now I'm back on my feet and ready to write this story again. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well! I didn't reply to recent comments on the last chapter but I'm going to do that now. Just to let you know, I always see your comments as soon as they come in via email even if I don't answer them, and the love you people give... needless to say, it gives me the energy and purpose to keep writing. Thank you all so much, and I'm sending all my love <3
> 
> The song for this chapter didn't really match it lyrics-wise, which is what I usually like doing, but I find the chord progression and melody are just so full of hope and that's what I wanted to convey this time. 
> 
> I know not much happened here but I'm gonna heat things up a bit in the next few chapters!
> 
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!
> 
> -Kat


	23. Lose You to Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre meets the infamous Bone Carver, discovers a few things, and has an intense workout.   
> Disclosure: Lots of the passages in this chapter were taken directly from the book. Do not give me credit, mostly the last third of it, you'll recognize the scene)
> 
> Song of the chapter: Lose You to Love Me by Selena Gomez   
> (A/N: More pop-ish than what I usually post, but this matched the last third of the chapter brilliantly)
> 
> Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlJDTxahav0
> 
> TW: Mentions of abuse, self-harm and vague mentions of suicide

_** Chapter 22: Lose You to Love Me ** _

“You don’t have to do this.”

“If you say that one more time, I’m going to poison your dinner tonight.”

The prison was eerily quiet despite the sprawling expanse of barbed wire and concrete palisades. Rhys and I followed closely behind the guard escorting us to the holding cell. 

Rhys said, “Those aren’t the wisest words to utter in a prison.”

I didn’t have to look at him. I could practically _hear_ the smirk on his face. 

The guard was stone faced as he opened the door before us, all metal and rust and industrial. He said, “You’ve got thirty minutes. No touching.”

“Thanks again, Rogers,” Rhys said, apparently acquaintances with the orange-haired guard who dipped his head once in regards. 

When I turned to view the room, I didn’t know why I was so shocked. Because the person looking back at me couldn’t have been more than 25. 

He had dark hair and bright blue eyes, but there was something wrong in them. Something twisted. I didn’t know how to explain it, but it just seemed so… off. Rhys and I sat down before him, though I was perched on the edge of my seat, ready to jump or flee at any minute.

“Rhysand. You don’t visit me enough. I’m truly offended.” His voice was sarcastic and lilting as he leaned back into his chair, arms crossed despite the handcuffs at his wrists. His orange jumpsuit nearly glowed in the dim lighting. 

“Forgive me old friend, we’ve got a few business matters to tend to at the moment.”

“And I’m somehow of use to you?” His sharp eyes darted over to mine, and the way they turned feral made goosebumps rise on my arms. “At least you brought me some good company this time.”

“Feyre is a colleague, and you better watch your mouth or we walk right now.”

Slowly, carefully, he looked back over to Rhys with that same twisted smirk. “So this is the infamous Feyre Archeron. I’ve heard murmurs of you in the past few weeks.”

My stomach dropped out from underneath me. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a very, very wanted woman at the moment. You don’t know the prize being held above your head.”

I swallowed hard, and looked to Rhys, whose jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth would crack. “Talk,” he gritted out. 

“What’s in it for me, pretty boy?”

“The usual. I’ll get you your cigarettes and booze. Tell the guards to take it easy.”

With a satisfied smile, he leaned back. “What would you like to know?”

Rhys said that he would be more inclined to answer if I spoke to him. I cleared my throat then said, “Have you heard anything recently regarding Hybern and his plans for Prythian?”

The Bone Carver was contemplative for a moment, his gaze assessing me, before saying, “You both already know about C’s. He’s been doing that shit for years and it’s really started to pick up. I know _you_ ,” he pointed to Rhys, “were involved in it for quite some time.”

Rhys said smoothly, “Against my will. And I got out of that as soon as I found an opening.”

The man across from me snorted. “Oh. Yes. That was a wonderful time, wasn’t it? Until it ended so… abruptly?” For some reason, he turned and looked at me with a knowing smile on his face, like it was an inside joke between the both of us. 

My gaze remained impassive. “What else do you know?”

“Scotch. I’d like scotch this time, Mr. Night, the kind you drink.”

“Done.”

Amusement bloomed in the man’s eyes before he said, “Hybern not only wants to purchase the Illyrian territory, he wants to infiltrate Prythian. Buy you all out. Create a monopoly of his own little puppets.”

Rhys snorted. “No one in their right minds would agree to that.”

“With the right price they will,” the Bone Carver countered, “Tamlin Ivy has already fallen to his reign. Soon enough that building will read Hybern and Co., Spring Division.” He fanned his hands out like he was displaying a billboard. My mind, though, was reeling at the thought of it. He wouldn’t fall so easy. He couldn’t—

But I thought of all the times that he made excuses for Hybern, that he praised Hybern for the help they handed him. And once again, that nagging feeling ate at my chest. 

“Last I heard, Autumn Publishing was about to sign a deal as well.”

Rhys’s nostrils flared. I ignored him and focused on the man before me, remembering what I needed to say. 

“What kind of timeline are we talking about?” I said as calmly as I could. “Years? Months?”

He shook his head. “Try weeks, sweetheart. This man means business. And he’s got the funds and manpower to carry through.”

It felt as though my nerves were all on fire, all at once. “Is no one else trying to stop him?”

“No one else cares,” the Bone Carver scoffed, “not when the price is so good. The mayor’s got dollar signs in his eyes, he’s probably willing to give that man the key to the city.”

“But what about—”

“If you want any more answers,” he said, “you’re gonna need to give me more.”

Rhys immediately stepped in. “Five extra cartons.”

The man snorted. “No. I want information. Secrets for secrets.”

When his gaze turned from Rhys’s to mine, my stomach roiled. 

“How many bullets did you fire that night in the coffee shop?”

My vision blanked out as Isaac and James’s faces entered my mind. 

“You do not have to answer that,” Rhys seethed. 

In my ears, I could hear my heart thudding like a broken drum, but I said anyway, “Four. Two at each.”

“They were going to kill you, right?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Did you call the police once it was over?”

I looked to Rhys, then shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”

“And Ivy wasn’t even in the city when this all went down.”

Shame burned through me. I choked out, “No.”

His eyes drilled into mine, as though he could see into my thoughts. Rhys looked like he was about ready to clock him. “Did you hate him in that moment? Were you ready to leave even then?” His lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“That’s _enough_.” Rhys’s hand slammed down on the table, and the Bone Carver laughed. Heat coloured my face as the brunt of his question hit me. How the hell did this man know so much? And so much about _me_? 

Despite the burning in my throat, I said, “I was ready to leave long before then. I just didn’t have the means or the strength to do it.” I could feel’s Rhys’s eyes watching me, his staring nearly swallowing me whole, but I ignored him if only to focus on the task at hand. I asked, “What are Hybern’s plans for the Illyrian territory?”

The sadistic man shrugged. “Some say he’s going to build his quiet drug production line. Some say he’s a very, very nice man and he’s only going to make a quiet cottage development near the Nordatuq lake.” He uncrossed his hands and splayed them out on the table. “I heard he was going to request expropriation orders and post them on every single door in the territory. And before you know it, there’s going to be a lovely little ski resort just north of Prythian, spanning the entirety of the Illyrian mountains, perfect for you and your family’s Christmas vacations.”

I could feel the anger radiating off of Rhys. And I could feel it burning, raging within my own chest. 

“If you want more, you’re going to have to talk.” He lazily pointed a finger at me. 

I opened my mouth to protest, unsure if I could take another second of this, but Rhys saw that gaze and said, “That’s enough.”

But I only stared at the Bone Carver and wondered quietly, “How do you know so much?”

“You’re not the only tops dogs that came to question me,” he replied with that cruel smile of his, “and Mr. Hybern was more than willing to gloat about his big plans. He may have had mentioned a few stories about a Ms. Archeron and Mr. Ivy who’d had a few rocky months, and I was _dying_ of curiosity.”

It took everything within me not to physically recoil.

Rhys’s eyes were wild as he demanded, “Hybern came to see _you_?”

“I’m a very popular man at the moment, Mr. Night.”

The silence between us stretched on for a few seconds, as though trying to absorb all the information divulged in these few precious seconds, and Rhys said roughly, “We’ll be leaving now.”

Trying to hide my shaking knees, I pushed up from the table and headed towards the door. From behind me, though, the Bone Carver only wondered, “You’re supposed to be sitting here, aren’t you Feyre? What was that woman’s name, the one you hit two years ago?”

I would’ve stood still in my tracks if Rhys hadn’t put a gentle hand around my shoulders and led me out of the room, but not before slamming the door behind us.

***

Building after building shot past me through the window on the way to the office. The sun, today, was royally pissing me off. Everything about today was pissing me off. But at least the anger, the coiling anger within me, was better than the utter emptiness that sat there before. 

“How does he know so much?” I finally got out quietly. We hadn’t said a word to each other since we exited that interrogation room. I was still trying to reel myself back in from that exchange. 

Rhys said, “The Bone Carver, despite being in prison, has a network of information. From the guards, his old clients, associates, friends, anyone. He made a living, and still does in a sense, off of information and secrets. Only now he deals in guards, inmates and visitors.”

“His dealings were illegal, I’m guessing.”

“Extremely. He had many underground businesses like that.”

“But he’s so…”

“Young?” Rhys shrugged. “He was raised on the streets and climbed his way up.”

“So he basically ran Prythian’s mafia, is what you’re telling me.”

“Yes. Let’s just say his name the Bone Carver isn’t just for decoration, but very literal. And he had a lot of enemies.”

Shivers ran down my spine. “So that’s how he and Hybern are connected.”

“I guess so.”

“But if those guards were watching and hearing them the whole time, how did they not arrest Hybern immediately?”

“You know how he can manipulate them all to his will. Money can get you anywhere, unfortunately.”

Silence. Then I asked, “And how do _you_ know him? The Bone Carver?”

Rhys chuckled. “I’m the guy who took him down.”

My jaw dropped. “He treats you pretty nicely for the man who put him in jail.”

“I scratch his back he scratches mine. Though let’s just say I’m very happy that during all of our encounters, he’s wearing handcuffs.”

I snorted, then thought back to that man’s face, the insanity that seemed to loom in his gaze. As bits and pieces of our encounter came flooding back, my finger started anxiously picking at the skin around my thumb. “We’re in a lot deeper than we thought, Rhys. All of this is…” I shook my head. If someone were to have told me six months ago that I would be meeting with an ex-mafia boss concerning the current near-mafia corporation trying to overtake Prythian, I would’ve laughed in their fucking faces. Now, dealing with these issues, seeing them in real life, it scared the shit out of me. But it also fanned those long-dimmed embers within me, ready to be reared into roaring flames. 

“I know,” Rhys said quietly. “I know. And I want you to know that you don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want to.”

“No. I’m doing this. I _want_ to do this.” 

Rhys only looked over at me and smiled, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Good, because you get a wage bonus with each assignment.”

“You’re horrible with your finances,” I reached over and shoved his shoulder as we pulled into the parking lot of Night Industries. 

And it took me a short, quiet minute to think about this job. About this common goal we were currently working towards. About the fact that… I hadn’t really _wanted_ anything in a long, long while. 

I didn’t know what it meant. But it felt good.

***

Azriel sighed. Mor clenched her hands against the wooden table before her, strewn with maps and documents, offering a miserable look to Rhys who sat beside me, across from them. Cassian was just barely restraining his rage. And behind us, stalking the windows, Amren paced silently, hands clasped behind her back. 

“So we’re truly fucked, then,” Mor said quietly. Rhys had explained our encounter with the Bone Carver, leaving out those awful truths I’d revealed to him. 

“No. We still have options. I’m still in the thicket of my research, but what Hybern is doing is illegal and a violation of so many treaty rights.” Amren finally wandered back over to where we sat around the coffee table in Rhys’s office, her grey billowing pants swishing with each step.

“But they aren’t officially recognized under the Indigenous Protection Act. Officially they can be treated as any other citizen in the city,” Cassian countered, his mouth set in a firm frown. “We’ve tried bringing a case to the federal level. It was denied.”

“It’s because of that racist ass judge—” Mor seethed, but Azriel put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. Mor only released a tight breath, but didn’t look at the man next to her. Cassian did, though, and it seemed like disdain in those eyes. 

A dynamic I hadn’t noticed before. I supposed trapped in my own bubble of despair, I couldn’t quite see past my own pity party. 

Rhys snapped my attention back to the conversation at hand by saying, “We could pursue it civilly in a Prythian court.” Rhys looked to Amren for confirmation. 

“I have the layout for a case, but it’s not strong enough yet.”

And I thought of all the ways that Hybern had screwed us over, screwed _my_ life over, and decided that maybe we couldn’t take the traditional ways anymore. 

“Then let’s take a page from his handbook,” I said quietly, despite the silence encompassing us. Tired gazes wandered over to mine, and I cleared my throat before continuing nervously, “Let’s pull out every bad bit of bad press we’ve got on this guy. Let’s _shame_ the mayor into not even wanting to be associated with the man. Prythian’s citizens will revolt when they see what kind of guy he really is.”

Amren sighed. “We’ve thought of that a while back, Feyre, but we don’t have anything on him. We’ve got ‘he said, she said’ bullshit, but nothing concrete that could put him under.”

But my mind only zeroed in on an image, a faint memory I never wanted to revisit up in that ivory tower office, with a file name and a hard-drive that I’d chucked in my purse without another thought. 

“I do,” I looked to Rhys, a nervous giddiness in my stomach. My head snapped to Cassian’s. “Is my purse still at your house?”

Confused, Cassian said, “Uh, I think so?”

“He never cleans,” Mor clarified, and Amren grunted in agreement. 

“I have a hard drive with information I downloaded off a computer from Spring Corp. It was under a file named Hybern, and when I opened it, I couldn’t make sense of any of it.”

Azriel’s eyes lit up. “If I get my hands on that, I could try to take it apart to see what kind of encryption he used to veil it.”

“This is a good lead. Let’s not get our hopes up, but this is a damn good lead.” Amren said, her cunning gaze finding Rhys’s. 

“If we provoke him, though, there’s a damn good chance he’s got enough dirt to put us under completely.” Rhys’s mouth formed a tight line. 

The others were quiet as they seemed to consider that yes, if they chose to do this, they were putting everything on the line. Because it was not in Hybern’s style to back down from jabs like that. 

Finally, Cassian cut in, “Let’s see the hard drive first and see what we’ve got. It’s very possible that it’s nothing.” He sighed and stood, looking to each of his friends. “I need to work some steam off at the gym. Anybody else like to join me?”

***

Azriel and Rhys were sparring in the next ring over, their grunts and loud smack of their gloves hitting flesh resonating through the high-ceilinged gym. I focused solely on Cassian, who’d been taking his anger and frustrations out on me, apparently. 

The man, barely sweating, ordered, “More ab exercises. Your core is weak.”

“I really appreciate our friendship, Cassian. You treat me _so_ well.” My forehead was drenched, and I thought my entire body would combust at any moment. I was still extremely out of shape, and it was to nobody’s surprise that I’d grown so weak over the last month. And though it was counter-intuitive, sessions like these always gave me so much energy afterwards. They made me feel…good. 

But definitely not during. No, right now I wanted to clock Cassian across the face just to get it to stop. My fingers and wrists shook as I lowered my fists to poise myself on the ground for the crunches. 

He took one look at me and said, “Get a drink before you collapse on me, Archeron.”

I rolled my eyes as we descended from the ring. Next over to us, Azriel and Rhys had paused as well, but as my eyes narrowed in on them, I realized it was only to peel their shirts off. 

Just like that day in the kitchen, watching him from afar, I could barely take my eyes off of him. 

They began again, with an unmatched ferocity. Neither of them held back as each buried their fists into the other’s torso. Despite the mouth guard, I could tell Rhys’s teeth were gritted by the clenching of his jaw and the lethal concentration in his eyes as he stalked Azriel. 

_Death on Swift Wings._

The title flashed across my mind, a painting bouncing around the corners of my mind. The darkness of their skin contrasted with the bright canvas and vulgar fire-engine red rings ropes. The type of blue I’d need to mix in order to get that perfect jet-black of Rhys’s hair. 

I could see it in my mind. And it shocked me, as I hadn’t touched a paintbrush in nearly a year and a half. Tried to, but never could after the accident. 

The feeling, the urge, though, was there one moment and gone the next. I gratefully accepted the water from Cassian and took a greedy sip. 

He watched both of them with me. I nearly winced as Azriel delivered what seemed like a hefty right hook to Rhys’s shoulder. Cassian said, “Rhys is out of shape and won’t admit it, and Azriel is too polite to beat him to the dirt.”

_Out of shape?_ I thought, staring at Rhys’s body. With all his muscles clenched in anticipation of a blow, it was impossible to tell that any unwanted body mass laid there. And Azriel was no different—taller than Rhys, sure, but just as bulky. The hack-master must have trained every day of his life to look like that. He too was decorated with the Illyrian tattoos, though he bore scar tissue around his shoulders and neck. The type of scarring that made you want to wince. I could only imagine the darkness he’d seen. 

Cassian’s glass clinked against mine and he took a sip as well. “How’ve you been feeling, Feyre?”

I said, “I’ve been a lot better. Our sessions help, too.” Another sip of water, then I quietly admitted, “I don’t think I ever would’ve been able to make this much progress… before. While I was with, um, with him.” I nearly choked on the words, unable to say his name aloud. 

Cassian didn’t miss a beat though. “When are you going to talk about the fact that you’ve left Tamlin for good? When are you going to let yourself be _free_ of him?”

I nearly flinched. The question hit me so viciously that I sniped, “How about when you talk about whatever’s going on between you and Mor?” It was a shot in the dark. I had only picked up on it recently, and I wanted to hit a nerve. 

The beat of Azriel and Rhys’s steps stumbled for a bit, like a scratched record skipping the chorus of a song, then resumed. 

Cassian—with colour lining his cheeks—barked out a startled laugh. “Old news.”

But I wasn’t letting this go. Not as those questions rattled around my mind, not after everything I’d divulged and given of myself this morning. “That’s probably what she says about you.”

“Get back in the ring,” Cassian said, setting down his empty glass “No more exercises. Just fists. If you want to mouth off, then back it up.”

My mind, though, was still elsewhere as we clambered back up the side and I slid my gloves on. All I could see was his face, full of betrayal and rage when I stepped across the hall of that police department. All I could feel were his hands clutching at me, _clawing at me,_ as he dragged me across the floor of the hall and locked me in that office. 

I meant it when I told Hanson that I left him. That I couldn’t bear to live with him anymore. And I knew that if Hanson had relayed that information to him, that I’d _left for good, left for good, left for good—_

I hadn’t let myself think about him. Not since I left. Especially after he’d come to the apartment, especially after what happened on that ledge. I couldn’t bear it. Not yet. 

“Did Rhys say something to you?” I wouldn’t put it past Rhys to get his friends to check up on me. Plus, after everything that’d happened at the police station, the drinking, he probably thought I wasn’t coping. 

I _was_ coping. In my own way. 

Cassian had the wisdom to look nervous at the expression on my face. “He may have expressed some concerns about it.”

“Do you guys have some sort of text chain where you ‘ _express your concerns_ ’ without me knowing?” There was a fire burning within me now. It was one thing to discuss their worries about me _with_ me—it was another to do it behind my back as though I was a child. 

“Hey,” Cassian said, grabbing my arm with his un-gloved hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. Rhys only said that because I asked him why you disappeared the other night to your room. I knew it wasn’t easy seeing Tamlin again. None of us…” he shook his head. I hated that I almost flinched again at the mention of his name. “None of us think it’s a joke. It was just my shitty way of trying to see if you needed to talk about it.” His eyes, shining beneath the ring lights, were more green than brown today. He repeated, “I’m sorry,” before letting go, and donning the other punch mitt. 

The stumbling words, the remorse in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t just screwing around. “All right.”

Though Rhys and Azriel were still hard at it behind us, I could practically feel my house-mate’s burning stare on me—it’d been there since Cassian first asked me the question. 

The man before raised the pads and said, “Thirty one-two punches, then forty, the fifty.” I winced at him over my gloves. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said with a tentative smile.

_His_ face flashed through my mind again. My days in college when we’d get coffee in the morning together before he dropped me off at class. The nights I’d spend with my friends at the bars and get angry calls asking where I was. 

It had been love, and I’d meant it—the happiness, the lust, the peace… I’d felt all of those things. Once. 

I positioned my legs and lifted my hands a little higher to cover my face. 

But maybe all of those things I’d felt had blinded me, too. 

Maybe they’d been a blanket over my eyes to cover the temper. The need for control, the need to protect that ran so deep he’d locked me up. Like a prisoner. 

“I’m fine,” I sighed, for what felt like the millionth time in my life, while stepping and jabbing with my left. The motion now felt fluid, natural, honed after my hours of practice with him. My fist slammed into Cassian’s sparring pad, snatching back as fast as a snake’s bite as I struck with my right, shoulder and foot twisting. 

“One,” Cassian counted. Again, I struck, one-two. “Two. And fine is good—fine is great.”

Again, again, again. 

We both knew “fine” was a lie.

I had done everything— _everything_ for that love. I’d given up my family, fought and bled and even fucking _killed_ for that love. I’d killed, all for the sake of his business, of his well-being, of his public image. All while he sat up in that office under a false pre-tense of duress, when I was the one withering away. He had no other outlet, no other resource to help himself, only me. I was his lover, but I was also his _punching_ bag—

Again, again, again. One-two, one-two, one-two—

He had the nerve to say that _he_ was the one under pressure. He had the nerve to say that all that was happening was so difficult for him, when I was out there getting beaten, getting shot at during our gods-damned wedding. I’d stumbled into a deep, dark pit after all that he’d intentionally and unintentionally put me through, and he couldn’t even bother to help me out. To even attempt to understand me. No, he just stepped around it, ignored it, like it would just go away on its own. But that pain, it _festered_. It festered until I was willing to tear myself apart. 

It festered until I was willing to jump down from that fucking rooftop. 

Again, again, again. One-two one-two one-two

Distantly, there was silence around us. Azriel and Rhys had stopped. 

But I didn’t as I kept punching mercilessly, trying to infuse all this pent-up energy and grief within me into something better, something that wouldn’t scar my skin—

When my fists met nothing, I looked up to Cassian, whose face was lined with grim understanding. 

And that’s when I realized that my cheeks were wet, and I was sobbing through clenched teeth. 

“Feyre,” he said softly.

And maybe it was because I was exhausted and broken, but I said, “I just want it to stop.” The words were like broken glass in my mouth, sharp and bloody and painful. But it was a truth I’d never let go. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted these emotions to stop. I _wanted_ to be free of Tamlin. But the ghost of his shackles remained on my wrists and ankles, holding me hostage in my despair.

“I know,” Cassian murmured, “I know what you mean.”

I pressed the leather of the gloves into my eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. There was a shuffling of feet, and suddenly warmth in front of me, surrounding me. Gently, fingers wrapped around those gloves until my eyes came face to face with Rhysand. 

“Talk,” Rhys said lowly, plainly, as his hands moved to my gloves and he began gently removing them. “Don’t think, don’t focus too hard on anything. Just talk, Feyre.”

For a few breaths, my mind felt scrambled, until it settled on a thought I felt safe enough to utter. “I can’t say his name. I don’t want to bring myself back to it. It’s all still so fresh and crushing—” I took a breath before the squeezing feeling in my chest set in. Cassian and Azriel had picked up in the background, the sound filling in the gaps of my broken monologue. “Because the truth is that I loved him so fucking much. And I just feel so _stupid_ ,” I sobbed on the word, and Rhys tugged the glove off my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine despite the sweat covering both of us, “I just feel so stupid and used. He stepped all over me and I _let him._ And the worst part is,” I breathed, eyes clenching shut, “is that sometimes I get so caught up in it and I find myself understanding him. I find myself excusing him and his actions.” I shook my head, eyes finally flicking up to Rhys’s. More tears fell at the absolute cracking in my chest. Someone could cut me open from stomach to sternum, and I would bleed poison ichor. “I don’t know what kind of person that makes me. But I hate that person.”

“I think that you’re in pain,” Rhys said faintly, tugging the other glove off, “and I think that you just… _feel_ really strongly.”

“Maybe if I pushed it down I wouldn’t be like this.” I stared at my hands like I could physically push the emotions away. But Rhys tightened his grip on both my hands, forcing my gaze up to meet his.

“No, it’s not a weakness. Be glad of your heart, Feyre.” The stars in his eyes shined as he stared into mine. “Pity those who don’t feel anything at all.” 

“But how do you explain that?” I wondered softly. “How can someone feel that for the person who destroyed them?”

Rhys’s mouth tightened, and shadows seemed to dance across his face. He hesitated, then opened his mouth to say, “Just because you have empathy for him doesn't mean you have to endure his abuse. I have empathy for everybody. I have empathy for people I walk by in the streets, my friends, even my greatest enemies. I have empathy for people that have done terrible things to me and the people I love—people I never want to lay my eyes on for the rest of my life. I have empathy for them because I know how their anger, their _misery_ was bred, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I have empathy for the people I hate, Feyre, but I'll be damned if I ever come within ten fucking feet of them ever again.”

We just stared at each other for a few moments, caught in our own moment in time, caught in our own moment together.

Softly, I said, “I’m going to see Suriel tomorrow.”

“Try talking with him about it. He could really help.”

I nodded my head, the exhaustion of the exercise hitting as my eyes closed. I didn’t realize our hands were still clasped, but neither of us made any move to draw away. 

“You know what else could help me right now?” I wondered softly, inching one eye open. 

“What?”

“Some soup.”

Rhys tipped his head back and laughed, and it coerced a grin out of me. “Okay, Feyre. Let’s go get some soup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Thank you so much for all the love on that last chapter. I felt super inspired to write this one, and it is currently one in the morning so don't mind the spelling mistakes or plot holes! I try my best to patch those over if I re-read it in a non sleepy-hazed state of mind. 
> 
> So, um... I tried to not write the angst... but the angst just wrote itself okay...
> 
> I just feel like a recovery from what Feyre went through isn't something you patch and bridge over in the span of three or four chapters. Recovery is on-going, but it's entirely possible for Feyre to find happiness again and develop into a better version of herself while still feeling those negative, heavy feelings. There will come a time in this story when they're much less prevalent, but for now I think they are going to stay at the forefront for another few chapters. 
> 
> A few things: 
> 
> 1\. This is a slow-burn! I am going to torture y'all with Feysand tension, and I am not sorry at all. But, keep in mind, the reward will be SWEET to those who are patient.  
> 2\. This story is probably going to be LONG. I drafted everything out yesterday and I think I might be writing this until at least December if I stay in a more consistent writing schedule. But believe me, it's really going to go down.   
> 3\. The Hybern plot is going to be very focal to the story, but I am going to have equal emphasis on Feyre and Rhys as well. Their relationship honestly is the foundation of this story, and will follow the book's plot very closely, but of course with my own special flare to it!
> 
> If you have any questions, comments or criticism, feel free to shout at me in the comments or in my inbox on tumblr. I'm trying to get more activity over there, so please send me some Anon questions! I love answering those. I'll even do a few prompts if you send me some!!
> 
> Once again, thank y'all for the amazing support on this story. I love you all, and hope you are all still safe and well during these weird times. 
> 
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!
> 
> -Kat


	24. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, but needed chapter. 
> 
> Song of the chapter: Quiet by MILCK (stripped version)  
> Link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tF5OklolsQ
> 
> TW: Mentions of physical abuse/domestic violence. 
> 
> If you are experiencing these kinds of situations, please, please reach out. There is always help out there.   
> 1 866-293-4483 Women's Domestic Violence Hotline  
> 1 800 799 7233 National Domestic Violence Hotline  
> 1 800 273 8255 National Suicide Prevention Hotline

_**Chapter 23: Quiet** _

The couch was soft, comfortable beneath me. Sitting there before Suriel, it felt like my vision was narrowed, like the sun was too bright, like my mind was pushed far, far down into my body to try and hide away from the prying questions to come.

“Number?” Suriel wondered softly. We’d already gone over the stiff formalities. It was that pause of silence between ‘Hello’ and ‘The weather sure has been ugly lately’ that rang deafeningly between us, as though it knew it would be scarce over the course of the next hour.

“Number?” I repeated, confused.

“Scale of one to ten. What are you today?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. Not after last night, not after tossing and turning in that bed with visions of shattered glass and snarling faces plaguing my mind.

“Two.”

It’d been a week of ups and downs. Small victories, but great defeats.

“You went down from last week,” Suriel frowned, “what happened?” He leaned back into his chair, pen poised above my file spread out across his lap. I tried to relax my fingers, and decided to slip them under my thighs to hide my fidgeting.

Tentatively, I said, “I got a job.”

His brows raised. “A job? That’s great.”

“With Rhysand,” I nodded, “it’s full-time but temporary until I find something else.”

Suriel shrugged. “At least you have something you can focus on right now and make some income to support yourself. What other jobs have you had in the past?”

My cheeks heated, and I looked over to the wall where his university diplomas hung proudly above some potted plants. “Well, I was I worked as an administrative assistant at school when I was fourteen til I was sixteen. I stocked groceries while I was in university until I met…” I swallowed before saying, “my fiancee, then as a barista. And for the last month I also worked in his office a bit before I…”

“Before you left,” Suriel completed. I still couldn’t look at him as I gave a little nod of my head.

“It seems to me like you were very hard-working to have started so young.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I was raised in poverty. Somebody had to pay the bills, and unfortunately my dad wasn’t in any position to work, and my sisters didn’t help out very much.”

“So, hard-working and self-reliant I should say.”

“I guess.”

“What about your mother? Is she in the picture?”

This time my eyes trailed to the windows and the clouds swirling outside, as though I could see her phantom blended in there with them. “Died when I was eight. Cancer.”

“I’m very sorry about that.”

I shrugged once more. I was young when she died, and Nesta and Elain knew her much better than I did. It still hurt sometimes though, just knowing that I was missing out on what others described as such a special, life-long connection. The ghost of what we could’ve had, always peeking over my shoulder.

Suriel took the pause to scribble a few things down, then sighed through his nose before looking back up at me. “I think it would be relative if I asked you about certain events that occurred this week that I was made aware of in…alternative ways.”

My stomach dropped out from under me and I closed my eyes. “You watched the local news, I’m guessing?”

“Every night at nine,” he said, and shifted in his chair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek before saying, “He was lying. I obviously wasn’t kidnapped, and if they’d looked at the rest of the footage, they would’ve seen me trying to get out to the elevator.”

“Why did he seem convinced that you two were still a pair, or that you should have been home with him?”

I remained silent as I finally held Suriel’s gaze, that quiet thrumming starting back up again within me. Throbbing, silent frustration pulsed through my veins. I didn’t want to talk about… I couldn’t…

“Did you break things off with him?”

“I’ve been living with someone else for nearly three weeks now,” I said, clenching my fists at my side. “Surely that’s sign enough.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I don’t want to push you,” Suriel said gently, taking in the obvious distress that was slowly building within me. “I just think it would be beneficial if you did talk about this with me.”

“Why?” I said sharply, nails digging into my palms.

“Because you can’t even say his name, Feyre,” Suriel said plainly, softly.

My eyes closed, pushing the tears that’d slowly pooled there onto my cheeks. Instinctively I hunched forward and silently buried my face into my hands so I could hide the emotions pouring out of me.

“Take your time, Feyre. Talk to me when you’re ready.”

The only sound beside my quiet sobbing was a Kleenex box being smoothly slid across the table between us.

Finally, I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my cheeks, before roughly saying, “I think a part of me still loves him.” My eyes slowly drifted up to find Suriel’s. “And I think he still loves me too.”

He nodded, giving me the patience and time to continue.

“And the way I left was messy. It wasn’t clear cut, but nothing was clear cut with us. We were supposed to be married, we almost _were_ married until the ceremony got interrupted, but while I was walking down that aisle even three months ago, I didn’t think I could make it to the end.”

“Why not? Why didn’t you want to marry him?”

So I went on and told him the story of our relationship. How we met at school. That I stopped school as per his advice after the accident. The two years working in the coffee shop and feeling like a burden to him.

When it got to the drugs, how things had become to grow awry between us, I had to bite my tongue. And Suriel seemed to sense it, because he told me, “Rhys was my client, Feyre. Let’s just say he wasn’t on the right side of the law either sometimes.”

Suriel must’ve known then, and Rhys must’ve trusted him. So I told him about the drugs, too.

I told him of Isaac and James and the car accident as well, no matter how soul-shredding it was.

Yet throughout it all, Suriel passed no judgment. If he’d formed an opinion on me, his face betrayed no ill-emotion. He only kept carefully probing.

“And that night, when I came home from the gym…” my mouth dried as my thoughts went back to that office, lying on the floor and staring blankly at the ceiling as pain festered in my chest. How he’d brushed his fingers against my face tenderly, as though it could’ve made up for the fact that he’d slammed me into his desk with all his might.

“He abused you.” Suriel completed quietly.

“It wasn’t—” I tried to protest, thinking about how I’d escalated things to, how I’d angered him to that point—

“Did he physically hurt you?” Suriel cut me off, his eyes tearing through mine.

All I could do was nod.

“Multiple times?”

Another dip of my head.

“That’s abuse, Feyre. And from the sounds of it, he manipulated you. He abused you emotionally. Would you have continued school if he hadn’t told you otherwise?”

I debated it. Though I was miserable in those times, thinking back, I would’ve pulled myself out of that slump at some point. I would’ve finished the degree. The academic probation was a slap in the face enough to get me started again, but by then, Tamlin had already convinced me otherwise.

“Yes.”

“And if he hadn’t told you to stop working at the coffee shop, would you have still worked there?”

Despite the horrors that’d plagued me there, I would’ve gone back eventually. I’d loved that job.

“After some time, I probably would’ve.”

Suriel looked at the file spread in his lap, and gently closed it before setting it and his pen on the table between us. Leaning back, he hooked one foot over his leg, and said gently, “It seems like Tamlin is a common denominator in most of the trauma that you’ve experienced over the last three years, Feyre. And because of the position you were in, through no fault of your own, you were just blind to it. It happens a lot with abuse victims.”

Again, those tears resurfaced, because he had to be wrong. Tamlin and I loved each other. I had torn myself apart for that love. We were going to swear vows, spend our lives together—

“But I _loved_ him,” my voice guttered on the words, hands shaking in my lap before me. “And he loved me. I know he did.”

“He loved you, Feyre, but he didn’t respect you. He stopped respecting you the second he laid a hand on you; the second he impeded on your freedom.” Suriel sighed, and there was true empathy that shone in his eyes, and I wondered how many other women and men had sat in this very exact spot recounting the same sad story, over and over. “The issue isn’t whether he loves you, Feyre. It’s how much. In this case, it was too much. Sometimes love makes us do awful things. It seems like Tamlin was trying to protect you in his own way, and he didn’t realize that he was stifling you at the same time.” Quietly, he added, “Sometime, love can be a poison.”

And words had not echoed truer in my mind, in my heart. And only confirmed what I had to do, what I _needed_ to do.

***

I texted Rhys that the session was done. He’d dropped me off earlier at eight and went straight to the office for a meeting with the promise that he’d come by again to pick me up once it was over. Today was supposed to be my first official day at work.

Nothing better than to start it off with a heart crushing therapy session, and whatever the fuck I was about to do as I reached for the payphone.

Not the new phone Rhys picked up for me after I couldn’t bear to use my old one in fear of Tamlin finding me again. No, I couldn’t let him have any trace of me. It was better this way.

My fingers trembled as I inserted the coins into the slot, then dialled in the number I had practically tattooed into my mind. I nearly slammed the phone back into its holder as the dial tone blared in my ear. Heart thundering, eyes squeezed shut, I held my breath and prayed that he wouldn’t answer—

“Spring Corporations,” his voice, the voice that’d rumbled against my bear neck, the voice that’d settled me into slumber, the voice that’d terrorized me to my very bones, echoed through my mind. It took everything within me not to hang up, not to run, even though all other voices in my head chanted that this was stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hello?” He said once more, growing impatient at the silence.

I drew a sharp breath that got caught in my throat as I breathed, “Tamlin.”

Silence. I could practically hear him still through the phone.

“Feyre,” he replied, relief seeping from his tone. “Oh thank the gods. Where are you? Tell me, and I’ll come get you.”

He was still holding on to the hope that I’d come back to him. He was still, _still_ blind to the fact that he’d…

That he had hurt me. That what he’d done to me played a major role in what’d led me to that ledge. He did not spawn those crushing feelings of despair within me, but he and his actions propelled them and acted as a catalyst to their infestation. He’d ignored it, purposefully or not, until I was nothing but a phantom before him.

And it was just in that moment that the cracks in the foundation of our love shattered completely. It didn’t feel like an unraveling. It didn’t feel like destruction.

It felt like I’d finally rid myself of the second, itching skin that’d slowly been squeezing the life out of me for years. It felt like the blurry film before my eyes finally lifted, and I could at last see again.

This time, my voice didn’t shake. My voice didn’t falter. Not as I clutched the phone in my hand and said, “I left of my own free will. I’m safe, and I’m cared for.” I closed my eyes and softly said, “I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me. For what you gave. But please don’t come looking for me. I’m not coming back.”

Something shifted in the background as though he’d stood abruptly. “Please, Feyre, you’re not making any _sense_ —”

“No,” I seethed, no longer able to stomach that trembling girl, the one who cowered beneath him, “I am making sense. We are done, Tamlin. This is it.”

“Feyre—” he pleaded beseechingly, but I’d already hung up the phone back into its holster.

I could hear my heart’s incessant, deafening beat raging across my body.

One moment. I allowed myself one moment to think of Tamlin, to think of us, to think of what I did.

Then I turned on my heel, and left him behind.

When I saw Rhys perched on the side of his car, I only blinked. He must’ve heard what I said. He must’ve known what I just did. I could tell by the way he stood perched, seemingly casual against his car, that his muscles were locked and ready to come to my side if ever I needed assistance.

When our eyes met, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. He asked, “Are you sure?”

Was I sure? Was this the right decision?

Broken glass on the floor. Broken fingernails from trying to claw my way out of his vice-like grip. Every proprietary touch and claiming he made, every decision I could never stand up against. They all flashed across my mind, and I finally knew my answer.

My nostrils flared as I took another deep breath, and told Rhys before climbing into the car, “I am no one’s pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I'm sorry it's been so long. I was out of the province for a while without wifi and decided to take a break from writing (which means I just re-read TOG lol). Anyways, I know it's short but like I literally couldn't write anything else to save my life so I decided to just publish this because my last two chapters were pretty long bois.   
> Hope you're all doing well, and thank you so much for all your continuous support for this story! It's legit my baby so that's why I really like taking my time to make sure everything is perfect for y'all.   
> Stay safe everyone, and take care of yourselves <3 
> 
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat (illyrianwingspans on tumblr, plz go scream at me or write me questions!)


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